On 30 March, the rest of the dogs were shot and eaten and by 9 April the grinding of the pack had split and reduced the floe to the point where it had to be abandoned in dangerously ice-clogged sea conditions. At 1.30pm, after drifting some 3,220km (2,000 miles) on their feet, all 28 men embarked and headed northwards through a gauntlet of disintegrating and melting pack all around them. Shackleton commanded the Caird and Worsley, as the most skilled boat-handler, the Dudley Docker. Hubert Hudson, second officer of Endurance (who was weakening physically and mentally), was nominally in charge of the Stancomb-Wills but Crean effectively so. The Caird proved a good sailer, the other two extremely difficult and the conditions in all three were alarming and unpleasant. For the first two nights they hauled the boats out on a convenient floe. This was almost catastrophic on the first occasion, when the ice split and dropped one man in his sleeping bag into the sea, as well as separating Shackleton and the Caird briefly from the rest. Thereafter they stayed in the boats, tied together at night, but three days from starting they found that they had lost ground to the south and east rather than gained it northwards.
Shackleton then ordered a change of course to the south-west back towards Graham Land, a decision that probably saved their lives. For on the following day, 12 April, the wind shifted to south-west, allowing them to run before it towards Elephant Island. On 13th they finally broke clear of ice but the next few days and nights were a catalogue of exhaustion, exposure, seasickness and continuous bailing, especially in the two smaller boats, with the Caird taking the unseaworthy Stancomb Wills in tow to prevent it from being lost. By 15th, the seventh day of their voyage, with the peaks of Elephant Island before them, the Docker had become separated. Given their exhaustion and the appalling sea conditions right under the cliffs, it was a near-miracle that both sections of the party managed to reach the leeward side of the island and find the same landing place – one of very few – near Cape Valentine. That proved to be dangerous to stay on and two days later, on 17th, they moved to a stony, ice-covered beach 11km (7 miles) further along under a spit of rock which they called Cape Wild – honouring Frank Wild, who had soldiered on for 32 hours without sleep at the tiller of the Caird.
They had last been ashore in South Georgia 16 months earlier, in early December 1914, and theirs was the first known landing on Elephant Island since 1830. A nearby glacier outfall offered water and a penguin rookery on the spit promised a food supply; of the elephant seals that gave the island its name, there was no sign. It was a barren, cold and unvisited rock, lost in a desert of ocean, but at least it was solid land.
James Caird • April–May 1916
On the afternoon of Saturday 20 May 1916, three bearded figures in filthy, tattered clothing walked into the Norwegian whaling station at Stromness on the north coast of South Georgia, and were taken to the house of the manager, Thoralf Sørlie. He thought he recognised one but could not place him until the man said: ‘My name is Shackleton … Tell me, when was the war over?’ Sørlie, who had met Shackleton at Grytviken in December 1914, welcomed them in but had to give them a shocking answer: ‘The war is not over. Millions are being killed … The world is mad.’ Fed, cleaned up and rested, the three arrivals – the others being Worsley and Tom Crean – had an astonishing story to tell, though one that still had some way to run before its ending.
As soon as they had settled on the safe beach on Elephant Island, the ‘directive committee’ of Shackleton, Wild and Worsley agreed that their only hope was to seek rescue, since there was no chance of being found. On 19 April, Shackleton called for volunteers to accompany him in the James Caird, selecting Worsley for his proven skills, the tough and reliable Irishman Crean, and the two most difficult lower-deck men, McNeish the shipwright and Vincent. The former was essential to repair damage and Vincent, despite his faults, was a good seaman. Also, taking them would remove a potential source of trouble on the island. A final member was another cheerful Irish hand called Timothy McCarthy. Wild was left in charge at the new camp with both the doctors (who were needed to take off Blackborrow’s gangrenous left toes) and orders to try to reach Deception Island in the spring if rescue did not arrive. The two other boats were turned over, supported on heaps of stones, to form a hut under which all 22 men had to live, double-decked, with some sleeping on the boat thwarts above and the rest on the rocky, guano-caked beach below.
The six men who sailed the James Caird to South Georgia had a horrific time. They were constantly wet, only slept for short periods in rotting reindeer sleeping bags, and had constantly to chip off deck ice to prevent the boat capsizing.
The freeboard of the 6.7 x 2-metre (22 x 6.5 foot) James Caird had already been raised and a small foredeck added. Recycling the timber of a sledge, a spare bolt of canvas and other pieces brought with them, McNeish rapidly stretched a spray-proof but neither watertight nor solid deck over the rest of it – all except a small command hatch aft. He also strengthened the keel by lashing the mast of the Stancomb Wills along it internally and added a small mizzen mast to the single-masted lug-rig. Heavily ballasted with shingle from the beach, packed in improvised bags, they sailed just after noon on Monday 24 April. The crew had only disintegrating reindeer sleeping bags, blankets, and the clothes they wore, none of which were waterproof. Their destination was South Georgia, to leeward of them in terms of prevailing wind and current across nearly 1,290km (800 miles) of the most stormy winter seas in the world.
Given that it should never have been in such waters, the Caird proved stable and safe but with a motion that made everyone seasick. After a fair start the weather deteriorated to a Force 9 gale which obliged them to heave-to for a day, but carried them on their way. By 26 April Worsley calculated they had covered 206km (128 miles). Everything except sailing the boat was done below deck in an intensely cramped, wet, nauseating and uncomfortable environment. There was no room to sit up properly, and with perpetual leakage through the canvas deck, those below had to pump and bail almost continuously. The pump itself – another of Hurley’s clever improvisations – also only worked when fully submerged in the sloshing bilge. The sleeping area was in the bow, the driest part (though that was only relative) and the cooking, done by Crean, was on a primus stove using ice fished from the sea whenever possible, to eke out water. Shackleton had brought enough supplies for a month and, as a cardinal principle of care for his men, ensured everyone had frequent hot food or drinks, and that a regular round of watches and rest was kept as far as possible. As before, his calm determination in the face of immediate danger and his solicitude for everyone was their psychological sheet anchor. Ever since Nimrod, he had dreamed of making such a boat journey but, though now doing so, he had to confess that it was Worsley, not himself, who was better qualified for the purpose and the better navigator.
The settee from Sørlie’s house at the whaling station on South Georgia. Shackleton, Crean and Worsley rested in this and two chairs after their 36-hour crossing to seek rescue for Endurance’s crew.
By 29 April they had covered 383km (238 miles) but the following day were again forced to heave-to on their sea anchor in wildly confused conditions and falling temperatures, of which the one advantage was that the deck canvas froze and at least stopped leaking. This, however, brought its own danger as the growing casing of ice on the upper works, a foot thick in places, made the boat unstable. Three times they risked lives crawling out onto the open deck to chip it off, soaking and freezing in the same breaking seas that formed it. On 2 May, still wallowing head to wind in icy conditions, the painter parted and they lost their sea anchor – a potential catastrophe since they could now only heave-to under sail, which was far more wearing.
Fortunately, 3 May saw the start of two days’ fine weather but this soon changed to a north-westerly gale. At midnight on 5th they were nearly capsized by a massive wave, after which they had to heave-to again, and spent the night frantically pumping and bailing. Vincent had by now become useless and McNeish was suffering badly; Crean and McCart
hy remained cheerful and Worsley, as navigator, bore a huge burden, worsened by the rare occasions for taking sun sights in the poor conditions and with the boat ‘jumping like a flea’. When on 7th he made them 145km (90 miles) from South Georgia, they had only two days of salt-contaminated water left and were beginning to suffer from thirst as well as exhaustion. Worsley had been aiming for the western end of the island, hoping to get round to the whaling stations on the north side, but he could not be sure of his position. Fearing they might miss land altogether to the north, Shackleton decided to make for the uninhabited and practically unknown southern side. At 12.30pm on 8 May, through thick weather, they briefly sighted the peaks of Cape Demidov to the west of King Haakon Bay and shortly afterwards, as the murk lifted, had the whole towering, iron-bound coast spread out across their track ahead.
By now it was too late to close the land with safety and Shackleton bore off for what was to be another terrifying night. By just after 6pm, in darkness, they were fighting a Force-10 storm blowing from west-north-west, with huge broken seas caused by the nearness to land. They nonetheless managed to claw off to the south before heaving-to again, pumping and bailing through the night. By noon the following day the wind had shifted to south-west at hurricane force and was driving them towards the maelstrom lee shore between King Haakon Bay and the fearsome peak of Annenkov Island just off the coast. Here again they were saved by Worsley’s skills as he shifted their minimal sail to gain the maximum ground to the southward. After four hours, with the boat leaking through every seam from the straining and crashing, and the men bailing for their lives, they finally managed to clear the island by nightfall, with the weather subsequently moderating.
On the evening of the next day, 10 May 1916, exhausted, soaking and in agonies of thirst after a frustrating afternoon trying to beat into King Haakon Bay, they managed to scrape into a narrow cove just inside Cape Rosa, its south-eastern arm. Here they stumbled ashore to the welcome provided by a small spring of fresh water, 17 days since leaving Elephant Island. ‘It was,’ wrote Shackleton, ‘a splendid moment.’
Four days’ rest in the cove, where there was shelter and driftwood for a fire, saw everyone dried out and their next move planned. The risks of trying to sail round to the north of the island were too great and Shackleton doubted the weakened McNeish and Vincent would survive the journey. He therefore intended to cross the icy peaks of the interior on foot, with Worsley – who had mountaineering experience in New Zealand and the Alps – and Crean. McCarthy would stay behind with the invalids, well supplied with rations and with local game to hand. They had already been eating fresh albatross chicks and sea elephant.
Above the north end of the long bay they had seen a snowy saddle that looked like an obvious way up. This was the route they took on 19 May, having sailed the James Caird over to the north side on 15th and upended it on a new stretch of beach to form a hut at what they called ‘Peggotty Camp’ (named for the Dickensian boat-dweller). The aim was to reach the permanent whaling station at Husvik at the head of Stromness Bay, a distance of only about 32km (20 miles). That was the theory. In practice, it was winter on a barren island of highly changeable weather with unmapped, glacier-coated central mountains of heights then unknown (914 metres/3,000 feet). Apart from being physically weak, they were inadequately dressed, with boots whose only grip was provided by inserting screws from the James Caird in the soles. The only other equipment they had were compasses, an outline chart of the coast, a 15-metre (50-foot) length of rope and McNeish’s short carpenter’s adze to use as an ice-axe. They took three days’ supply of rations per man and a primus stove, but no sleeping bags: Shackleton planned to do the crossing in a single march, day and night, with minimum stops for rest and food, taking advantage of a full moon. The weather delayed the start but thereafter was almost freakishly fine, though very cold at night and sometimes misty.
This compass played a vital role in the James Caird voyage. Out of sight of land they relied on it and the wind direction shown by their flag, especially when otherwise sailing blind at night.
Do not let it be said that Shackleton has failed … No man fails who sets an example of high courage, of unbroken resolution, of unshrinking endurance.
Roald Amundsen
Starting at 2am, they marched up more than 300 metres (1,000 feet) across the dangerous glacial saddle and in about six hours were within sight of deserted Possession Bay, the most westerly of the long, regularly spaced fjords penetrating the north coast. Thereafter things became increasingly difficult as they had to regain height lost by descending too soon and pick their way east across a high ridge whose first three passes proved to have impossible reverse faces. As they used the adze to cut steps down the ice beyond the fourth, late on 19th, the light began to fail and they risked using the coiled rope as a toboggan, careering down a 460-metre (1,500-foot) slope to avoid the greater danger of being trapped above in darkness. In the night they again lost the line of their route, descending on the western side of Fortuna Bay, the next along the coast, and having to climb up again to another jagged ridge. Near the top, after some 22 hours on the move, Shackleton allowed the others a brief sleep, himself keeping watch, before they went over the crest and could at last recognise the distant heights above Stromness. At 7am on 20th they heard the faint factory whistle from one of the whaling stations, though still some miles away.
To get round the head of Fortuna Bay they had a short but frightening final traverse, tied together. Shackleton again cut their steps down a wall of ice, with the risk of a slip from any of them catapulting all three into the sea far below. This led them down to a beach by mid-morning with one more 460-metre (1,500 foot) ridge to cross to reach Stromness, which Shackleton now judged an easier destination than Husvik. To their jubilation, Stromness Bay was in sight below by early afternoon. On the way down, their last misdirection left them in a mountain stream with a soaking, 10-metre (30-foot) drop through the waterfall at the end of it using their rope, which at last proved its strength but was lost there. Thirty-six hours after starting out, they walked into the whaling station at about 4pm, 2,415km (1,500 miles) north of where Endurance had frozen in the pack-ice, and into a world that the slaughter of Flanders and Gallipoli had already changed forever.
Yelcho • May–August 1916
Although the final scene of Shackleton’s expedition was only played out in 1917 when he returned in Aurora to rescue the Ross Sea party, the last act of the Endurance drama remained a fairly local matter. On the night of their arrival, Worsley slept on board the whale-catcher Samson, already making its way out through a blizzard to fetch the men at King Haakon Bay, who did not initially recognise his cleaned-up form when he arrived. They returned to Stromness on Monday 22nd, bringing the James Caird with them, a gesture Shackleton greatly appreciated. (In 1922, after his death, it was presented to Dulwich College, his old school, where it can still be seen.)
During their absence Shackleton was also lent the use of an English steam whaler laid up at Husvik, the Southern Sky, to mount a rescue of the men on Elephant Island. He, Worsley and Crean sailed with it on 23 May under a Norwegian captain, Ingvar Thom, who happened to be available as his ship was in harbour, but they were stopped by thick sea ice 113km (70 miles) short. Instead of returning to South Georgia, however, Shackleton diverted Thom to Port Stanley in the Falkland Islands, which had a cable station, and announced his escape to the world via the London Daily Chronicle, to which he was under commercial contract. The news broke in banner headlines on 31 May, the day the Battle of Jutland was fought. Thom then left and Shackleton found himself enjoying the hospitality of the Governor but with no ship available in Stanley to make another rescue attempt.
By this time his supporters in London, including Ernest Perris, editor of the Chronicle, had already been urging high-level official action over the vanished expedition. The Admiralty was understandably reluctant, both because of the war and having had enough of sorting out such messes in the recent past. However
, an approach to Prime Minister Herbert Asquith, and Aurora’s wireless signal to Australia on March 24 1916 after its escape from the ice, clinched the matter even before Shackleton materialised to appeal for help two months later. The Navy now began to fit out Discovery for the task but showed no willingness to allow
Sir Ernest Shackleton in Royal Naval Reserve uniform after returning from the Antarctic. Despite the horrors of the First World War, his miraculous escape was a welcome distraction. Unknown photographer, about 1917. him any authority to direct its movements. Already fixed on the mission of rescuing his men, he was equally adamant that he should be in overall command.
Through the good offices of the Argentine government, the next attempt to reach Elephant Island was made by the Argentine fisheries research trawler Instituto di Pesca No 1. This collected Shackleton, Worsley and Crean from Port Stanley on 16 June but returned them there after being forced back by ice again, 32km (20 miles) from the island.
With only the option of waiting for Discovery at Port Stanley, on 1 July the three men shifted their ground to Punta Arenas in Chile, on the Straits of Magellan. Here Shackleton quickly raised money from the British community and other admirers to charter a 75-ton schooner, the Emma, for his third rescue attempt. They sailed on 12th, towed part of the way by the Chilean Navy tender Yelcho, but the voyage was otherwise more reminiscent of the pre-steam era. It was made largely under sail because of deficiencies in the Emma’s diesel engine and they were again stopped 160km (100 miles) short by ice. They then had to beat back against the prevailing westerlies, reaching Port Stanley on 3 August.
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