Part 16 (1/2)
On bones we leave no meat on, For we study Mrs. Beeton.
So said the song. On birthdays and other auspicious occasions dishes appeared which would tempt a gourmet. Puff-pastry, steam-puddings, jellies and blancmanges, original potages and consommes, seal curried and spiced, penguin delicately fried, vegetables reflavoured, trimmed and adorned were received without comment as the culinary standard rose.
Birthdays were always greeted with special enthusiasm. Speeches were made, toasts were drunk, the supple boards of the table creaked with good things, cook and messman vied with each other in lavish hospitality, the Hut was ornate with flags, every man was spruce in his snowiest cardigan and neck-cloth, the gramophone sang of music-hall days, the wind roared its appreciation through the stove-pipe, and rollicking merriment was supreme. On such occasions the photographer and the biologist made a genial combination.
The dark-room was the nursery of the topical song. There, by lantern or candle-stump, wit Rabelaisian, Aristophanic or Antarctic was cradled into rhyme. From there, behind the scenes, the comedian in full dress could step before the footlights into salvoes of savage applause. ”A Pair of Unconventional Cooks are we, are we,” and the famous refrain, ”There he is, that's him,” were long unrivalled in our musical annals.
Celebrations were carried on into the night, but no one forgot the cook and the messman. The table was cleared by many willing hands, some brought in ice and coal or swept the floor, others sc.r.a.ped plates or rinsed out mugs and bowls. Soon, everything had pa.s.sed through the cauldron of water, soap and soda to the drying-towels and on to the shelves. The main crowd then repaired with pipes and cigars to ”Hyde Park Corner,” where the storeman, our raconteur par excellence, entertained the smokers' club. A mixed concert brought the evening to the grand finale--”Auld Lang Syne.”
After events of this character, the higher shelves of the kitchen, in the interstices between thermographs, photographic plates ink bottles, and Russian stout, abounded with t.i.tbits of pie crust, blancmange, jelly, Vienna rusks, preserved figs, and other ”perks.” Such ”perks,” or perquisites, were the property of the presiding cook or night-watchman and rarely survived for more than a day.
The mania for celebration became so great that reference was frequently made to the almanac. During one featureless interval, the anniversary of the First Lighting of London by Gas was observed with extraordinary eclat.
The great medium of monetary exchange in the Hut was chocolate. A ration of thirty squares was distributed by the storeman every Sat.u.r.day night, and for purposes of betting, games of chance, ”Calcutta sweeps” on the monthly wind-velocity and general barter, chocolate held the premier place.
At the ”sweeps,” the meteorologist stood with a wooden hammer behind the table, and the gaming public swarmed on the other side. Numbers ranging from ”low field” and forty-five to sixty-five and ”high field” were sold by auction to the highest bidder. Excitement was intense while the cartographer in clerical gla.s.ses worked out the unknown number.
As a consequence of wild speculation, there were several cases of bankruptcy, which was redeemed in the ordinary way by a sale of the debtor's effects.
Two financiers, indifferent to the charms of chocolate, established a corner or ”Bank” in the commodity. ”The Bank,” by barter and usurious methods, ama.s.sed a great heap of well-thumbed squares, and, when accused of rapacity, invented a scheme for the common good known as ”Huntoylette.” This was a game of chance similar to roulette, and for a while it completely gulfed the trusting public. In the reaction which followed, there was a rush on ”The Bank,” and the concern was wound up, but the promoters escaped with a large profit in candles and chocolate.
Throughout the winter months, work went on steadily even after dinner, and hours of leisure were easy to fill. Some wrote up their diaries, played games, or smoked and yarned; others read, developed photos, or imitated the weary cook and went to bed. The MacKellar Library, so called after the donor, was a boon to all, and the literature of polar exploration was keenly followed and discussed. Taste in literature varied, but among a throng of eighteen, the majority of whom were given to expressing their opinions in no uncertain terms--there were no rigid conventions in Adelie Land--every book had a value in accordance with a common standard.
There was not a dissenting voice to the charm of 'Lady Betty across the Water', and the reason for this was a special one. The sudden breath of a world of warmth and colour, richness and vivacity and astute, American freshness amid the somewhat grim attractions of an Antarctic winter was too much for every one. Lady Betty, in the realm of bright images, had a host of devoted admirers. Her influence spread beyond the Hut to the plateau itself. Three men went sledging, and to shelter themselves from the rude wind fas.h.i.+oned an ice-cavern, which, on account of its magical hues and rare l.u.s.tre, could be none other than ”Aladdin's Cave.” Lady Betty found her hero in a fairy grotto of the same name.
'Lorna Doone', on the other hand, was liked by many. Still there were those who thought that John Ridd was a fool, a slow, obtuse rustic, and so on, while Lorna was too divine and angelic for this life.
'The War of the Carolinas' took the Hut by storm, but it was a ”nine days' wonder” and left no permanent impression on the thinking community. Mostly, the story was voted delightfully funny, but very foolish and farcical after all. A few exclusive critics predicted for it a future.
Then there was 'The Trail of '98'. For power and blunt realism there was nothing like it, but the character of the hero was torn in the shreds of debate. There was general agreement on two points: that the portrayal of the desolate Alaskan wild had a touch of ”home,” and that the heroine was a ”true sport.”
All those who had ever hauled on the main braces, sung the topsail-halliard chanty, learned the intricate Matty Walker, the bowline-and-a-bite and a crowd of kindred knots, had a warm spot for any yarn by Jacobs. Night after night, the storeman held the audience with the humorous escapades of 'Ginger d.i.c.k', 'Sam' and 'Peter Russet'.
And lastly, there was a more serious, if divided interest in 'Virginibus Puerisque', 'Marcus Aurelius', 'The Unveiling of Lha.s.sa'--but the list is rather interminable.
The whole world is asleep except the night-watchman, and he, having made the bread, washed a tubful of clothes, kept the fire going, observed and made notes on the aurora every fifteen minutes and the weather every half-hour, and, finally, having had a bath, indulges in b.u.t.tered toast and a cup of coffee.
The Hut is dark, and a shaded burner hangs by a canvas chair in the kitchen. The wind is booming in gusts, the dogs howl occasionally in the veranda, but the night-watchman and his pipe are at peace with all men.
He has discarded a heavy folio for a light romance, while the hours scud by, broken only by the observations. The romance is closed, and he steals to his bunk with a hurricane lamp and finds a bundle of letters.
He knows them well, but he reads them--again!
Pearly light rises in the north-east through the lessening drift, and another day has come.
CHAPTER IX MIDWINTER AND ITS WORK;
With the advent of the fateful Ides of March, winter ii had practically set in, and work outside had a chequered career. When a few calm hours intervened between two blizzards a general rush was made to continue some long-standing job. Often all that could be done was to clear the field for action, that is, dig away large acc.u.mulations of snow. Then the furies would break loose again, and once more we would play the waiting game, meanwhile concerning ourselves with more sedentary occupations.
There was a familiar cry when, for some meteorological reason, the wind would relapse into fierce gusts and then suddenly stop, to be succeeded by intense stillness. ”Dead calm, up with the wireless masts!” Every one hastily dashed for his burberrys, and soon a crowd of m.u.f.fled figures would emerge through the veranda exit, dragging ropes, blocks, picks, and shovels. There was no time to be lost.
So the erection of the wireless masts began in earnest on April 4, continued feverishly till the end of the month, suffered a long period of partial cessation during May and June, was revived in July and August, and, by September 1, two masts, each consisting of a lower-mast and top-mast, had been raised and stayed, while between them stretched the aerial. For four weeks messages were sent out, and many of them were caught by Macquarie Island. Nothing was heard in Adelie Land, although, between certain hours, regular watches were kept at the receiver. The aerial was about sixty-five feet from the ground, and it was resolved to increase its height by erecting the top-gallant masts; but before anything considerable could be done, a terrific gust of wind on October 13 broke three wire-stays, and down came the mast, broken and splintered by the fall. That is a brief resume of the fortunes of the ”wireless”