Dead reckoning 69º 5′ S., 178º 30′ E. The night before last I had bright hopes that this Christmas Day would see us in open water. The scene is altogether too Christmassy. Ice surrounds us, low nimbus clouds intermittently discharging light snow flakes obscure the sky, here and there small pools of open water throw shafts of black shadow on to the cloud–this black predominates in the direction from whence we have come, elsewhere the white haze of ice blink is pervading.
We are captured. We do practically nothing under sail to push through, and could do little under steam, and at each step forward the possibility of advance seems to lessen.
The wind which has persisted from the west for so long fell light last night, and to-day comes from the N.E. by N., a steady breeze from 2 to 3 in force. Since one must have hope, ours is pinned to the possible effect of a continuance of easterly wind. Again the call is for patience and again patience. Here at least we seem to enjoy full security. The ice is so thin that it could not hurt by pressure–there are no bergs within reasonable distance–indeed the thinness of the ice is one of the most tantalising conditions. In spite of the unpropitious prospect everyone on board is cheerful and one foresees a merry dinner to-night.
The mess is gaily decorated with our various banners. There was full attendance at the Service this morning and a lusty singing of hymns.
Should we now try to go east or west?
I have been trying to go west because the majority of tracks lie that side and no one has encountered such hard conditions as ours–otherwise there is nothing to point to this direction, and all through the last week the prospect to the west has seemed less promising than in other directions; in spite of orders to steer to the S.W. when possible it has been impossible to push in that direction.
An event of Christmas was the production of a family by Crean’s rabbit. She gave birth to 17, it is said, and Crean has given away 22!
I don’t know what will become of the parent or family; at present they are warm and snug enough, tucked away in the fodder under the forecastle.