Perhaps the most unpleasant ordeal, however, was changing into evening and sleeping clothes, which they had to do outside in order to avoid bringing snow in the tent. While on one of the early sledging journeys, Royds gave an extensive description of what it was like.
Having taken off your wind covering blouse and put your jaeger blouse on you start in with the foot gear. Your fingers are at once nearly frozen off in taking off the burberry leggings, which require bare fingers to undo and clear away the lacings, so you have to shove your hands into your mitts again to warm up, and the mitts in the meantime have become frozen and hard, and are no joy to get into . . . My night shift consisted of a pair of bed socks, which all day you have carried next your skin so as to be warm and dry to put on, a pair of human hair socks which you also carried next your body during the day, a pair of fur socks, with fur inside, and then your pimi's which are long fur boots, fur outside, reaching above the knee. Fur trousers came next, and then the big fur blouse. All these things are very nice to put on when they are soft and pliable, but after a short time in use, they become hard and stiff, and it's the devils own job to get into them. Round my neck I wore a comforter which had been inside and round my waist during the day, and on my head I had a balaclava helmet, which I never took off from the time I left the ship to the time I returned . . . After shifting [dressing] one was invariably puffing and blowing like a grampus, with fingers with no feeling left in them . . .
. . . the sides of the tent if touching your furs, send the cold right through furs and all. For a pillow I used to use my jaeger blouse, and over my feet I used to put my burberry wind blouse. The tent after a few days out gets coated with ice, and every time it shakes, down on your face comes a shower of ice and frost crystals. Not at all nice. At night I always wore a bib . . . as all your breath collects round the neck of the fur coat, and after a time this gets like a sheet of iron, and is beastly when it comes to putting it on at nights. Sledging is certainly not any joy.
Such an existence, combined with the tedious inching toward the south, must have disappointed all of them, particularly as both Scott and Shackleton tended toward impatience. Certainly there was a thrill of discovery, since everything they saw was new to the human eye. There was also an incredible majesty to the vast nothingness, leading Shackleton to write, 'What a little speck on the snowy wilderness is our camp, all around white save where the shadows fall on the snow mounds, and the sun shining down on it all.' But the overwhelming emotions must have been frustration and dissatisfaction, states of mind that could particularly in conjunction with the pettiness and irritation that constant enforced proximity can cause - lead to disharmony.
There has never been any firm proof that there was a serious falling out between Shackleton and Scott on the journey south. The argument for it has been made with certainty and denied with equal confidence. The strongest case for it lies within a statement written two decades later, but which is clearly hearsay. But the acceptance of such discord does make later events and the interactions between the two men more understandable.
Shackleton and Scott had disparate - although equally strong personalities. According to Hugh Robert Mill, Scott was 'at his best' when everything was as he planned, whereas he 'was at a loss to extemporize a new line of action when the well-laid plan went crookedly.' Shackleton, on the other hand, was, according to a number of those who knew him well, essentially a boy all his life. He had the enthusiasm of a boy, the romantic disposition of a boy and the fiery temper of a boy. On the Discovery Expedition, according to Bernacchi, 'he permitted no liberties . . . and could be brutally truculent if such occasion arose.' It may have been this combination of Scott's frustration at their lack of progress and Shackleton's direct and tempestuous approach that prompted a break between the two men that lasted through endless bitterness and tragedy to the attainment of the Pole.
The whole thing came about - according to Armitage, who wrote that he had been told of the incident by both Wilson and Shackleton - in a virtually haphazard fashion, which, as is so often the case, set off a totally unexpected chain of events. One morning during the southern journey, the story goes, Wilson and Shackleton were packing the sledges after breakfast, when they heard Scott shout, 'Come here you bloody fools.'
They went over to him, and Wilson quietly asked, 'Were you speaking to me?'
'No, Billy,' said Scott.
'Then it must have been me,' said Shackleton, who then awaited a response. When one was not coming, his temper got the better of him. 'Right,' he said, 'you are the worst bloody fool of the lot, and every time that you dare to speak to me like that you will get it back.'
Scott would not have put up with such a comment had he been anywhere but more than a hundred miles from the ship, and it could be expected that he would not have forgiven his subordinate for it, so this story would certainly provide an explanation for their future actions. It must, however, be noted that Armitage, who wrote about it to Mill after all three members of the southern journey had died, felt unfairly treated by Scott. He appears to have become more outspoken with the years, so the story could well be apocryphal.
On the other hand, even if the story did not unfold in this precise manner, the gist of it could well be true. Frank Debenham, a geologist on Scott's final expedition, later commented:
I fancy there were divergences of view between them . . . I remember trying to get something out of Wilson about what happened and his 'cageyness' on the subject did more than anything to persuade me there had been an incident. . . With [Shackleton's] volatile temperament and Scott's comparative rigidity, it would be surprising if there were not 'words' once or twice when the party were in a parlous state.
Thus, it was probably not a very congenial party that marched steadily southward, becoming the first men ever to pass the eightieth parallel on 25 November. Three weeks later they lightened their load by caching supplies at Depot B, which allowed them to move ahead without relaying. And on 30 December, they camped at what they figured to be 82°i7'S. As they faced north, they had before them a long, debilitating journey back to Hut Point, on which they would not only have to struggle against time, progressive weakness, and a lack of food, but scurvy and Shackleton's deteriorating condition.
'A beautiful day, but a sad one indeed for me,' Shackleton wrote on 1 March 1903, 'for today I left my home and all those who are chums . . . I cannot write much about it, but it touched me more than I can say when the men came up on deck and gave me 3 parting cheers.'
The entry was one that Shackleton would not have foreseen writing, because it described his leaving the Antarctic - and Discovery - on a long, slow, lonely trip back to England, via New Zealand. His prospects had certainly changed since that Tuesday less than four weeks before when he, Scott and Wilson had returned to Hut Point, completing a journey that had been difficult for each of them, but that was truly touch-and-go for Shackleton. They had quickly learned not only of the arrival of Morning, a relief ship sent by Markham, but of the news of the outside world: the death of Cecil Rhodes, the end of the South African war, and the elevation of Arthur Balfour to Prime Minister.
But the most important thing they had learned was that, despite it breaking out slowly, there were still miles of ice between Discovery and open water. As February passed - and the three members of the southern party recuperated - it became apparent that the ship would have to winter again in the Antarctic. Scott - secretly pleased by the development - wanted a trimmed down party, and he allowed anyone to go home who wished to. All the merchant sailors chose to go.
Shackleton was a different matter. In mid-February, Scott informed him that, due to his medical condition, he would be invalided home. Koettlitz had examined Shackleton, and had agreed with Wilson that his breakdown had been due to scurvy. However, Koettlitz indicated that Shackleton was practically recovered; in fact, he seemed much stronger than Wilson, having led a party bringing back stores from Morning on 16 February, well before the junior surgeon was healthy en
ough to be far afield. But Scott imposed health conditions on his officers that were more stringent than on the scientific staff, which meant that Shackleton would go home, while Wilson was allowed to stay.
Needless to say, Shackleton was extremely disappointed, as, according to Wilson, 'he was very keen indeed to stop & see the thing through. It is certainly wise for him to go home though.'
Armitage disagreed with Wilson's assessment. He became involved when Shackleton asked him for help. 'He was in great distress,' Armitage wrote.
I consulted Koettlitz about S's health, and he informed me that Scott was in a worse condition than Shackleton. I then went to Scott, and . . . told him that there was no necessity from a health point of view, so after much beating about the bush, he said 'If he does not go back sick he will go in disgrace.'
There has been debate as to whether this statement referred to Shackleton's falling out with Scott on the southern journey or to Shackleton's breakdown, which Scott might have thought came in part because the third officer had concealed a weak constitution from the doctors in advance of the trip. Regardless of whether it was either, or if it was simply more bitterness expressed by Armitage years later, the second-in-command was unable to assist his fellow merchant marine officer.
Shackleton's last effort came when he consulted Reginald Ford, Discovery's purser and his direct subordinate. 'Shackleton came to me . . . and asked me if I would volunteer to go Home if Captain Scott would allow him to take my place, my duties being less arduous than those of a deck officer,' Ford later recalled. 'This I declined to do as I was quite as anxious as Shackleton to remain.'
Thus, on 2 March Morning sailed north with the expedition's third officer aboard. 'Ah me it was a sad parting,' he wrote that night.
'Mount Discovery away down South from us was a splendid sight standing out in the clear blue of the Southern Sky . . . I turned in and read for a bit but thoughts would go back to those I left on the floe.'
One of those he had left behind was his closest friend from the mess deck, Frank Wild. The night before, there had been a party aboard Morning, which, according to Shackleton, had been very pleasant 'and with songs and one thing and another it was 3 a.m. before we went to bed'. Perhaps in response to the loss of his comrade, Wild had so much to drink that, while returning to Discovery, he and another inebriated seaman had to be tied to the sledge in order to get them back safely.
It was a sad moment, but it would not be the last time that Shackleton and Wild would look together on the still, cold whiteness of the Antarctic. And together, they would reach places no man had ever seen before.
8
A SQUARE PEG AND A ROUND HOLE
Members of the public today - jaded by a plethora of gruesome news accounts, violent dramas in the cinema and unpleasant 'reality' shows might shake their heads in disbelief and decide a tableau such as happened one day in June 1903 could never truly occur. It was, they would think, too gooey, too sickeningly sweet, to possibly be true. But sensibilities were different a century ago, and when Shackleton returned to England, having made his way via New Zealand and the United States, a scene that would have made the writers of The Waltons proud occurred in Sydenham.
'What a homecoming that was!' Shackleton's sister Kathleen recalled five decades later. 'Some of us went towards the station - the road was dotted with Shackleton sisters of all ages and sizes at various intervals. I could see his dear broad shoulders as he turned the first corner, his zigzag sailor's roll beside Daddy's springy walk . . . Fie kissed us all one by one.' When they reached the house, Mrs Shackleton was waiting in the hall, trembling, with tears in her eyes.
The air was charged with emotion . . . Someone would have burst into tears only Ernest saved the situation. He spied a familiar brooch which Mother ever wore, a mosaic of the famous Canova doves around a bowl. Seizing Mother in his arms, he hugged her, said 'Well here I am, darling,' and putting her back, he looked at the brooch. 'What - those doves still drinking?'
It was a moment that was pure Shackleton. Ever was he able to take charge in an instant, whether it be a crisis on the ice, an unexpected question at a lecture or a personal emergency. He seemed to have the remarkable ability to draw forth at will reserves of physical strength, courage, cheerfulness, solicitude or the capacity to inspire. Little did he know it at the time, but in the next four years he would need these talents and more, because he would be faced with something new in his adulthood - an extended period on land.
The joy of Shackleton's homecoming must have been complete when he was reunited with Emily, patiently waiting for him and not only looking forward to marrying him but financially independent into the bargain. Her father's will had left her money in a trust that would produce a regular income, at that point some £700 a year, which would be enough to keep an average middle-class couple in comfort, including housing, food, clothing and a pair of servants.
But Emily was not all that was waiting for Shackleton. Posted before he even arrived back in the country was a letter from Sir Clements Markham, both gushing and insistent. 'I am quite unable to express to you my admiration,' he had written, continuing:
It will be a great disappointment to you to have had to leave . . . but you will have the consolation of knowing that you will be as useful . . . here and I am sure as zealous, as you would be there . . . I am relying very much indeed on your knowledge and your advice about sending the things out that will be needed; and I want to see you to settle various things as soon as possible after your arrival.
Markham's references to Shackleton's assistance related to a second relief expedition, which had become imperative with Discovery still in the Antarctic. When Shackleton arrived home, Morning was already being fitted out in New Zealand for a return south. But the RGS and the Royal Society were far short of the funds needed, and had again asked the Treasury for support. Unfortunately, Markham's aggressive strategy to force the government's hand backfired. In a struggle between the president of the RGS and Prime Minister Balfour, the result was neither surprising nor what the conniving old man had hoped. The cost of government participation was that the Admiralty took over the entire relief operation, including, to Markham's chagrin, the ownership of Morning. It was then decided to send a second ship south, for which the Admiralty purchased a large Dundee whaler that would later become famous on Scott's second expedition: Terra Nova.
Shackleton now had three interactions with the Royal Navy in quick succession. With the blessing of Markham, he accepted a position under Vice-Admiral Peiham Aldrich, assisting with the general outfitting and the provision of stores for Terra Nova in Dundee. He also applied to have his commission transferred from the Royal Naval Reserve to the Royal Navy proper, receiving a strong letter of support from Markham and William Huggins, the president of the Royal Society. This request was refused, however, and in the following year Shackleton resigned from the RNR. Strangely, despite the unwillingness to offer a regular appointment, the Admiralty asked Shackleton to sail as chief officer of Terra Nova. The opportunity to appear as Scott's rescuer - following his pronouncement by an Admiralty doctor as 'fit for service' - undoubtedly appealed to Shackleton, but he turned it down never the less, and began to search for a job that would allow him to focus on his approaching wedding and future life with Emily.
It must have been difficult, however, for Shackleton to avert his thoughts from the polar regions, news of which seemed to be on everyone's lips. In the very week of his return, a Norwegian who had participated in the Belgica expedition departed for the Canadian Arctic in a tiny ship; it would be three years before Roald Amundsen would reach civilisation, having attained the goal of centuries by completing the navigation of the Northwest Passage across the waters of Arctic Canada. A week later a highly publicised expedition under the command of Anthony Fiala left the United States for Franz Josef Land and an attempt on the North Pole. And soon thereafter Shackleton was consulted by Julian Irizar, an Argentine naval officer who was being sent to the Weddell Sea to
try to rescue the missing members of Otto Nordenskjold's Swedish Antarctic expedition.
Meanwhile, until Scott's return, Shackleton was an important voice for the British National Antarctic Expedition, and he made several public presentations. In addition, he quickly published two accounts in The Illustrated London News. It was perhaps this success, and his experiences with The South Polar Times, that led him briefly to pursue a career in journalism.
In the autumn of 1903 Shackleton was hired as a sub-editor for the Royal Magazine, one of the stable of publications owned by Sir Arthur Pearson, who had followed Newnes and Harmsworth in producing first popular periodicals (starting with Pearson's Weekly in 1890) and then daily newspapers (his most successful being the Daily Express, founded in 1900). But although Shackleton brought a cleverness with words, an infinite number of fresh, creative ideas and his usual effervescence, he soon proved unsuitable for office work.
'You may wonder why exactly I gave him this appointment,' F.W. Everett, the editor who hired Shackleton, later wrote.
He had had no practical experience of journalism . . . and he was the first to admit, with that big laugh of his which one never forgets, that office work was out of his line altogether. But I am convinced that if he had gone to a stock-broker, a butcher, a carpenter, or a theatrical manager and asked for a job, he would have got it. There was something about him that compelled confidence . . . He was brimming over with original, unconventional, racy ideas, which, whether practical or not, were always stimulating . . . I remember well neglecting my work for the best part of a day, in company with two other Editors and several juniors, to sit in a circle round Shackleton while he related some particularly dangerous exploit. And no man told a story better.
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