I

“⁠—the lavas that restlessly roll Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek In the ultimate climes of the pole⁠— That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek In the realms of the boreal pole.”

Danforth was a great reader of bizarre material, and had talked a good deal of Poe. I was interested myself because of the Antarctic scene of Poe’s only long story⁠—the disturbing and enigmatical Arthur Gordon Pym . On the barren shore, and on the lofty ice barrier in the background, myriad of grotesque penguins squawked and flapped their fins, while many fat seals were visible on the water, swimming or sprawling across large cakes of slowly drifting ice.

Using small boats, we effected a difficult landing on Ross Island shortly after midnight, on the morning of the 9th, carrying a line of cable from each of the ships and preparing to unload supplies by means of a breeches buoy arrangement.

Our sensations on first treading Antarctic soil were poignant and complex, even though at this particular point the Scott and Shackleton expeditions had preceded us.

Our camp on the frozen shore below the volcano’s slope was only a provisional one, headquarters being kept aboard the Arkham . We landed all our drilling apparatus, dogs, sledges, tents, provisions, gasoline tanks, experimental ice-melting outfit, cameras, both ordinary and aerial, aeroplane parts, and other accessories, including three small portable wireless outfits⁠—besides those in the planes⁠—capable of communicating with the Arkham ’s large outfit from any part of the Antarctic continent that we would be likely to visit.