As a young man Harmsworth contributed to Tit-Bits, George Newnes' pioneering weekly aimed at the lower end of the newly educated reading public and consisting of a melange of anecdotes, puzzles and articles featuring short paragraphs, short sentences and short words. In 1888, the twenty-two-year-old Harmsworth launched Answers, a halfpenny magazine that followed Newnes' formula, while adding to it an invitation to readers to ask their own questions. Whether truly from readers or not, questions such as 'Can Fish Speak?' 'Do Dogs Commit Murder?' and 'Why Don't Jews Ride Bicycles?' gave Answers an unlimited supply of material, and helped make it a huge success.
In 1894, as Shackleton rounded Cape Horn again and bobbed across the Atlantic, Harmsworth followed Newnes into the newspaper market, purchasing London's foundering halfpenny daily The Evening News and Post. He shortened the name to The Evening News, cut down on the amount of political coverage, and established a column for women. Within a year, the circulation had doubled. But Harmsworth went beyond changes in the presentation of the newspaper and followed the lead of James Gordon Bennett of The New York Herald in creating news himself, news that, like that of Bennett, related to the exploration of mysterious, new lands.
Believing that coverage of a British effort to reach the North Pole would boost sales, Harmsworth agreed to finance the Jackson-Harms-worth Expedition to explore the little-known archipelago of Franz Josef Land and find a route to the Pole. The other London newspapers also followed the expedition's preparations with something akin to idolatry, and one letter published in The Times, The Daily Telegraph and The Evening News and Post was bound to have caught Shackleton's eye. Written by the president of the Royal Geographical Society, Clements Markham, it stated: 'I cannot let you leave England without wishing you all possible success in the glorious, but most arduous enterprise . . . In your hands, for the time, is the Arctic fame. Your country and I feel sure that you will . . . worthily uphold British credit and renown.'
By the time Shackleton read this letter, the cult of heroism had experienced unrestrained growth in the Victorian mentality. The Queen had been transformed from a petulant, withdrawn widow to the symbol of a living Britannia. And amid a maturation of imperial myths, a veneration for heroic soldiers and explorers was being celebrated not only in the popular press, but via children's literature, songs and tableaux at music halls, imperial exhibitions, theatres and church sermons. As Jackson departed for the north, the polar regions were being brought very much to the forefront of British imperial thought.
Shackleton had his own future to think about, however, so, sporting his new second mate's certificate, he sought out Owen Burne, a friend from Dulwich who was a wine merchant, and who, therefore, Shackleton assumed would know the owners of ships. Burne took him to see Major Jenkins, the senior partner in the Welsh Shire Line, who offered him a position as fourth mate. It was only several days later, when he next saw Jenkins, that Burne heard the rest of the story. 'That's a rum fellow,' Jenkins said, indicating that Shackleton had been to see the ship and, as he did not like the fourth mate's quarters, had offered to go as third mate instead. But already Shackleton's outgoing, breezy personality was charming people of rank, so, Jenkins said, 'I rather liked the chap and gave it him.'
His new ship was Monmouthshire, a tramp steamer only slightly larger than Hoghton Tower, and in November Shackleton left London, bound for the Far East. One of the third mate's duties was to check and restow cargo at each port, and he now gained valuable experience for his later expeditions. After an eight-month journey, he returned home for a week in the summer of 189 5, before rejoining Monmouthshire and sailing for China.
The year 1895 has been noted by historians as a watershed date, the events of which reflected significant changes in the British mentality. It was the year of the trial of Oscar Wilde, which triggered a public reaction against decadence. It marked the opening of the Kiel Canal, and its implicit statement of German naval power. It saw the retirement of the most long-lasting and dominant of British political figures, William Gladstone, and the defeat of his party in an election that emphasised the imperialism that had caught the fancy of the British public. And at year's end came the Jameson Raid, releasing a train of events that led inexorably to war in South Africa. But whether, as conflicting arguments have stated, this was a period of uncertainty or of hopeful anticipation, none of this would have had much impact on Shackleton, who was in Britain for only a week of the calendar year.
Even the significance of an event that would be closely related to his future was almost certainly overlooked as he crossed the ocean on Monmouthshire. On 24 January 1895 - the day that also marked the untimely death of one of the most magnificent spokesmen for empire, Lord Randolph Churchill - an event occurred that would help lead to British involvement in the Antarctic. Far to the south of New Zealand, a party from a whaling ship approached the shore at Cape Adare in Victoria Land, Antarctica. As the captain prepared to step ashore, one of his crew, Carsten Borchgrevink, leaped out and helped steady the boat. A Norwegian who had been living in Australia, Borchgrevink used this incident to claim to be the first man ever to land on the Antarctic continent. He had actually been beaten by some seventy-four years (the American sealer John Davis had landed on the Antarctic Peninsula in February 1821), but it was not to be the first time that a claim of dubious veracity would influence later events.
Coincidentally, it was during this same period that Shackleton, so he later stated, decided to become an explorer. The story is undoubtedly apocryphal, but he claimed that, between Gibraltar and New York:
I dreamt that I was standing on the bridge in mid-Atlantic and looking northward . . . I seemed to vow to myself that some day I would go to the region of ice and snow and go on and on till I came to one of the poles of the earth . . . I am sure my thoughts then turned to the North Pole, because it was more in men's minds . . . After that I never had any doubt that sooner or later I should go upon a polar expedition.
When Shackleton returned from his second trip on Monmouthshire, he spent two months at home, during which he passed his examination for first mate. He went back as the second mate aboard Flintshire, a much larger ship of the Welsh Shire Line, and fell into a pattern of spending three to four weeks with his family between cruises of four to seven months. He would arrive to find the family house bedecked in flags, cardboard messages and coloured greetings, all signs of his sisters' affection. He once asked them not to repeat the decorations, but he was not unhappy when they ignored his request.
'Ernest had one comprehensive name for the lot of us,' Kathleen later wrote. 'He used to call us his Harem. I suppose we spoilt him, at any rate we all loved him very much. Home from the sea on a hot summer's day he would fling himself on the sofa. "Come, my wives, you must entertain me. Zuleika, you may fan me, Fatima, stroke my ankles, and you must play to me" he used to say.'
It was during one of these brief, idyllic periods in Sydenham that Shackleton found the most intriguing challenge he had yet experienced. It came via a totally unexpected route - his sisters.
For the first twenty-three years of Shackleton's life, the only women who held a firm place in his affections were his sisters, mother and grandmother. That changed after July 1897, when, at the Shackleton family home, he met a woman who had become friendly with his sister Ethel - Emily Dorman. A tall, slim beauty with brilliant blue eyes and a smile at once alluring and quizzical, Emily had an ease about herself that was unusual for a woman in the reign of Victoria. She was one of six children of Charles Dorman, a successful solicitor, and his wife Janie, who had raised their three sons and three daughters in a comfortable and secure family environment, and had always encouraged Emily's interests in travel and the arts.
The week Shackleton returned to England - that of Queen Victoria's magnificent Diamond Jubilee - Emily was twenty-nine, six years older than the young seaman. She had a great deal of natural talent as an artist and a singer, and had been instructed in acting by Elsie Fogerty (who later founded the Central Sc
hool of Speech Training and Dramatic Art, trained such actors as Laurence Olivier and John Gielgud, and became a pioneer of speech therapy). Sociable, intelligent and popular, Emily had, according to her daughter, received no fewer than sixteen proposals of marriage.
When they met, however, it seems that Emily was unhappy. One can assume she felt Shackleton was pleasant and interesting, a diversion from other thoughts. He had grown into an attractive man, his years of toil at sea having helped build great strength in his broad shoulders and barrel-chest, in spite of him being slim-hipped and having unusually small hands. He had a heavy-jawed but pleasing face, with intense eyes and long, curly eyelashes. Despite his physical appeal, an exuberant vitality and an indisputable personal magnetism, Shackleton, rarely a man of half measures, seems to have been smitten much more quickly than Emily. It is likely that, as he returned to Flintshire after too short a period in Emily's company, he had little interest in the humdrum tasks of the sea.
When he next returned home in February 1898, Shackleton wasted no time in pursuing Emily. In his two weeks of leave, they visited the National Gallery and the British Museum. They also spoke of their mutual love of poetry. Emily later recalled that Shackleton read a great deal of Swinburne and was particularly fond of Tennyson and Charles Kingsley, both of whom he could quote extensively from memory. However, he did not, he told her, particularly care for her favourite, Browning. She promptly gave him a pocket volume of Browning and he was soon converted. 'I greatly love and admire Browning,' he later said. 'I like his optimism, his note of "Never say die," the grand way in which he faces the future, his outlook upon the world. Yes, I think Browning is great.'
During his next cruise, Shackleton earned his master's certificate, which was awarded in Singapore. And during his leave, he spent as much time at Mr Dorman's summer home as in Sydenham. When he went back to sea, Shackleton was spurred on by a goal stronger than any he had yet encountered. So passionate was he that, despite the Victorian restrictions on sentiment, one night he expressed his feelings to a shipmate. At the time, there existed 'a marked standoffishness' between officers and engineers, but Shackleton spoke from his heart to the engineer of Flintshire, who later wrote:
'Well, Shacky,' I remarked one evening, 'and what do you think of this old tub? You'll be skipper of her one day.' 'You see, old man,' he said, 'as long as I remain with this company I'll never be more than a skipper. But I think I can do something better. In fact, really, I would like to make a name for myself - he paused for a moment or two - 'and for her.' He was looking pensively over the sea at the moment, and I noticed his face light up at the mention of 'her.' In my bunk that night I felt convinced that the ambition of that man's life was to do something worthy - not only for himself, but 'for her.'
Despite Shackleton's desire for Emily, he was uncertain of her love, and a welter of contradictory letters did little to ease his tortured mind. For more than four months he virtually lived from letter to letter. There is little doubt that, in September 1898, the heartsick sailor was almost indifferent to one of the most sensational triumphs of Victoria's reign - Kitchener's annihilation of the Khalifa's forces at Omdurman.
By the time of Shackleton's homecoming in early December, the public's attention had turned to a confrontation with the French hundreds of miles up the Nile at an unknown post called Fashoda. Shackleton cared little, as he had thoughts only for Emily. He had hoped to spend Christmas near her - his first with his family since before he went to sea - but such was not the sailor's lot, and he sailed on Christmas Day for a voyage around Britain. It was to prove a short cruise, however, as on the night of Boxing Day Flintshire ran aground near Redcar.
After safety measures were taken, Shackleton was granted leave to go home for his father's birthday on New Year's Day. On the way, he stopped at the Firs, the home of the Dormans. 'We spent the evening in the billiard room,' Emily recalled years later.
He told me how he loved me - I was deeply moved - I remember so well because he put his cigarette on a ledge in the big oak chimney piece - & it burnt a deep dent - which we tried to rub out - and we often looked at it in after days - but no one else noticed it! . . . I let him out through the conservatory about 10.30 I think and he kissed my hand - he went home then to wish his father 'many happy returns'.
Shackleton now believed that Emily would ultimately be his. The next step was to impress her father, and for that he needed better prospects. On 7 January 1899 he was discharged from Flintshire and shortly thereafter resigned from the Welsh Shire Line. He again turned for help to Owen Burne.
4
WAR OR AN UNKNOWN PLACE?
On Tuesday, 12 September 1899, Brevet Lieutenant-Colonel Sir Henry Rawlinson, second Baronet and son of the famed diplomat and Assyriologist, was asked if, on the next Saturday, he would accompany Lieutenant-General Sir George White on what was expected to be a brief excursion to South Africa. Rawlinson accepted with the same alacrity as if it had been an invitation to a social weekend with his fellow officers of the Coldstream Guards. 'Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday were spent in getting my things together though there was not very much to do in this way as all my Indian things were available,' he noted. 'I just had to replenish a few medicines and odds and ends of uniform; this together with the purchase of a Brochardt pistol really completed my preparation.' As a final measure, he 'arranged to sell my two horses at Tattersalls at the earliest opportunity'.
And thence it was away for what, Rawlinson no doubt imagined, would be another swift and successful campaign, such as the army had conducted against overmatched peoples around the world during the preceding fifty years. After a rapturous send-off at Waterloo Station, Rawlinson, Colonel Ian Hamilton and the other members of Sir George's staff joined their leader in a private salon that had been attached to the Bournemouth Express to take them to Southampton. And from there, on a still evening broken only by the flutter of flags and the cheers of friends and 'come find outs' on the quay, they passed down the Solent aboard the Castle Mail Packet Company ship Tan-tallon Castle.
The departure of Rawlinson and his fellow officers was a step in a remarkable series of political wranglings that for a century since has divided historians debating the origins of the war between the largest empire on Earth and two tiny nations: the South African Republic (or Transvaal) and the Orange Free State. What can be stated with certainty is that the Secretary of State for the Colonies, Joseph Chamberlain, and the High Commissioner for South Africa, Sir Alfred Milner, had convinced Lord Salisbury's Cabinet that the best way 'to avoid war was to make preparations for it'. Since, as Chamberlain wrote, President Paul Kruger of the Transvaal would 'bluff up to the cannon's mouth' regarding concessions demanded by the British government, it was determined that the best way forward was to send 10,000 troops to Natal as a show of force. On the day before the first soldiers of the Queen left for Durban, White, a bitterly contested selection as commander of that force, sailed from Southampton.
The Castle Mail Packet Company was part of the elite of Britain's merchant service, and in 1876 it had been awarded a joint contract with its fierce competitor, the Union Steam Ship Company, to carry the mail between England and South Africa. The ships of both companies were large by the standard of the day, immaculately maintained, and, in the areas reserved for passengers, exceptionally plush. However, even the best ships struggle to overcome the capricious whims of nature, and the voyage of Tantallon Castle that September was no exception. Rawlinson and several of his colleagues were forced to remain in their cabins early in the voyage, although 'with the aid of a couple of liver pills and forcing a certain amount of food down, I got fairly well by the end of the 3rd day.'
It was only then that the man ultimately destined to command the British Fourth Army at the Somme was able to make a study of the other people aboard. They were, Rawlinson wrote in his peculiarly uncapitalised script, 'less interesting to me personally . . . a curious mixture of dutch, english, and Semitic'. He thought the most intriguing passenger w
as the secretary to Francis Reitz, the former President of the Orange Free State. 'We were warned against this man when coming aboard as a "spy" so for the first few days we gave him a wide berth but later on when we got to know him he seemed quite a decent fellow.' The others, he evidently believed, were less absorbing. 'Mr & Mrs Savage are of Johannesburg,' he wrote, conscious of his national and racial superiority, 'she a jew - he an ass, but they have rather a nice child of about 21 years . . . Mr & Mrs Sinclair we thought were interesting people at first but they do not improve on acquaintance.'
With the promise of an exciting conflict on the horizon and few intriguing passengers about, Rawlinson was eager to reach Cape Town. 'The voyage is a very long and tedious job and one gets deadly sick of the confinement . . . The rest of the people aboard are a very uninteresting lot.'
That a figure with Rawlinson's social background and education - he had attended Eton and Sandhurst - should dismiss a lowly fourth officer was not in the least surprising in the class-conscious final years of Victoria's reign. But only a decade later that seemingly insignificant officer would be one of the most famous explorers in the Empire Ernest Shackleton.
The previous January, shortly after resigning from the Welsh Shire Line, Shackleton had again landed on his feet with the help of Owen Burne. Indeed, a position with the Castle Mail Packet Company was a plum of which most merchant seamen could only dream, and his move from second mate to fourth officer was an impressive, and unlikely, promotion. But in late March, there was Shackleton, standing proudly in a smart blue uniform as Tantallon Castle departed on one of her regular trips from Southampton to Cape Town.
Shackleton’s Forgotten Expedition Page 6
