An Unsung Hero: Tom Crean - Antarctic Survivor

by Michael Smith

  Barne was unhappy at not making better progress but Scott fully understood the severity of the weather and later recalled that ‘ill fortune dogged this party from the start’. The party was also hampered by numerous ‘undulations and disturbances’ where the Barrier joins the frozen inlet at the bottom of what is today known as the Byrd Glacier in the Britannia Range.

  It was the most testing journey Crean undertook on the Discovery expedition. The party had to cross steep crevasses and ridges but there was some reward for the risks and hard slog of dragging sledges across the uneven landscape. Against the odds, they managed to chart accurately for the first time the mountain coastline running down to the Barrier, which in itself was a creditable performance.

  However, the party’s most significant contribution to the entire Discovery expedition was made purely by chance as the men were trudging northwards back to the safety of the ship. The returning party came across Depot A, which Scott had laid down and accurately fixed thirteen months earlier at Minna Bluff alongside Mount Discovery on the very edge of the Barrier. But to everyone’s astonishment, the depot had moved 608 yards (556 metres) in thirteen months, or more than 4 feet a day. Although scientists with the expedition believed that the Barrier was moving, the accidental discovery of the depot’s movement enabled them to measure for the first time the speed at which it was travelling. Scott described the news as ‘one of the most important results of the expedition’.

  Despite the hardships and lack of progress, Barne was pleased with his party and reported back to Scott:

  ‘With regard to the conduct of my party, I can only say that those with me are deserving of all praise. They all used their utmost endeavours to make the journey a success.’10

  The round trip for Crean and his colleagues was a little short of 400 miles (640 km), but the poor weather and heavy work meant it had taken 69 days to cover the distance – an average of less than 6 miles a day. Even after taking account of the time spent confined to the tent because of blizzards, the party travelled at a rate of only 7½ miles a day.

  In contrast, Scott’s party to the west during much the same time had travelled 1,098 miles (1,750 km) in 81 days which showed that the leader himself had learned at least one important lesson from his last lengthy trip on the ‘furthest south’ journey a year earlier. This time he had sensibly opted for proven man-hauling quality from the ranks of the seamen and had taken Evans and Lashly, two of the most formidable sledgers of the Heroic Age. On his ‘furthest south’ journey with Wilson and Shackleton, admittedly the first major expedition into the Antarctic hinterland, Scott had covered only 960 miles (1,500 km) in 93 days. The improvement was dramatic.

  Scott returned to Discovery on Christmas Eve, 1903, to find only four men on board. The others, including Crean, were busy with the laborious task of trying to free Discovery from her imprisonment in the ice.

  To the party’s deep dismay, there were now about 20 miles (32 km) of ice separating Discovery from open sea and freedom. There was a growing realisation that either Discovery would need a miraculous escape or that the ship would have to be abandoned and the men carried home on the relief ship.

  The men threw themselves into the task of freeing the ship, desperately trying to saw through 20 miles of 7-ft (2-m) thick ice in a vain attempt to carve out a channel. But after twelve days’ hard labour, the men had made pitifully small progress, slicing two parallel cuts of only 150 yards (137 m) each. To continue was futile and Scott called a halt. He wisely began to make preparations for another winter and the men began earnestly searching the horizon for the relief ship, Morning, which was expected at any time.

  On 5 January 1904 the men were astonished to see not one, but two ships sail into view – the Morning and the Dundee whaler, Terra Nova. The stranded party, already two years into their sojourn, were understandably delighted. Williamson said the party started ‘jumping around like wild men’.

  But Scott had reason for dismay. The relief ships had brought the unequivocal message that unless Discovery was freed within about six weeks, she would have to be abandoned.

  Sailors, by tradition, regard abandoning ship as the last resort and Scott believed he and his men had been placed in a ‘very cruel position’. Leaving Discovery to be crushed by the ice on her maiden voyage would have been a severe blow to Scott’s credibility and to him abandonment was unthinkable. It would also have exposed the folly of his original decision to allow the ship to become frozen in.

  Nevertheless, there was some sympathy for the Captain among the officers and men. Charles Ford, the ship’s steward, said that never had orders been framed which gave an officer less option. Scott was obviously deeply affected by the decision and his concern was readily apparent. Ford wrote:

  ‘The Captain is very much cut up and says that he cannot yet realise abandoning the ship. He thanks everyone for the way they had stood by him loyally. Men gave him three cheers.’11

  Colbeck’s reports on Discovery a year earlier, in 1903, had caused some alarm back in London. Although there was praise for the achievements so far, there was concern about the safety of the men if Discovery had to endure another winter in the South. The mood was not helped by the eccentric behaviour of Sir Clements Markham, who still acted as though it was his personal venture.

  Markham, who was now 73, simultaneously managed both to celebrate Discovery’s achievements and cause concern about the men’s safety. He demanded that a relief ship be sent, but overlooked the fact that very little money remained in the kitty. He became almost hysterical in his attempts to rally support for a relief vessel, warning about a ‘terrible disaster’ if Discovery was not relieved and arguing that it was now a ‘matter of life and death’.

  There was also continuing friction between the expedition’s original sponsors, the Royal Geographical Society and the Royal Society. Markham eventually went directly to the Balfour Government with a plea for £12,000 (today: over £1,000,000).

  But to Markham’s chagrin, ministers took the matter out of the two societies’ hands and set up their own Antarctic Relief Committee under the chairmanship of Sir William Wharton, a leading hydrographer at the Admiralty. The Government, it emerged, would finance a rescue if the societies handed over the Morning; a second ship would also go on the relief expedition. It may be that the Government wanted to keep a closer eye on proceedings than Markham had managed previously with the Morning relief.

  Time was marching on and a frantic search began to find and refit a suitable vessel to accompany Morning. The Committee trawled the leading British whaling fleets and the Norwegian explorer, Nansen, was also approached. By early July, the Committee had alighted on the Terra Nova, a whaler in the fleet of C.T. Bowring, which it bought for £20,000 (today: over £1,750,000). Together with the refitting of the Morning, the relief of Discovery was to cost the tax-payers around £35,000 at 1903 prices, or the equivalent of nearly £3,000,000 at current purchasing power.

  It soon became clear that it would be impossible to refit the Terra Nova in time for her to leave England by early August, the latest possible date for her to make the 14,000 mile journey to McMurdo Sound. However, Wharton was determined and decided to have the Terra Nova towed most of the way across the globe by a series of Royal Naval vessels.

  By a supreme irony, one of the men called upon to help rush through the refitting of Terra Nova was Ernest Shackleton, who had only recently returned to Britain after being sent home on the Morning by Scott six months earlier.

  The Terra Nova, under the seasoned Scots whaling veteran, Captain Henry Mackay, duly reached Hobart, Tasmania, for rendezvous with Colbeck and the Morning. They reached the ice edge in McMurdo Sound on 5 January 1904, three weeks earlier than Morning had arrived the previous year.

  The three ships’ parties were organised into a single company working up to eighteen hours a day with one simple task – to free Discovery. With ice sawing ruled out, the men turned to explosives. Blasting began on 15 January but, frustratingly, progre
ss was negligible and the mood blackened. Scott began transporting valuable scientific instruments and records to the relief ships, while everyone tried hard to keep up their spirits. Arrangements were made for most of the wintering party to return onboard the larger vessel, the Terra Nova.

  But the work to free the ship was not without danger and Crean came perilously close to losing his life after plunging through the ice near Hut Point twice in a single day. On the first occasion, he returned to the ship and sensibly changed his wet clothes. He immediately went out again on skis and promptly fell through the ice a second time with near fatal results.

  The steward, Ford, was on hand and recorded the Irishman’s narrow escape. He reported to his diary:

  ‘[Crean was] unable to help himself out, it being all he could do to keep himself from being dragged under the ice by the current.

  Fortunately, some men working there heard his shouts for assistance and after some difficulty (for he was numbed with the cold and unable to help himself) a noose was put round him and he was dragged to safety and assisted to the ship.’12

  Without his quick-thinking comrades, Crean, weighed down by the extra polar clothing, would certainly have perished in the freezing waters. For Crean it was the first of many narrow escapes from death in the hostile Antarctic environment. But he seemed undisturbed by the life-threatening incident and Scott noted that Crean was ‘very cheerful’ about his ducking.

  Although some movement in the ice was apparent, on 13 February there remained still two frozen miles between Discovery and the relief ships. Abandoning the ship was looking more likely and Scott was gloomy:

  ‘Thick weather again today; have seen or heard nothing from the ice edge. Very anxious for a clearance.’13

  But 24 hours later, as if in answer to the silent prayers of everyone on board, the ice suddenly broke up. Chunks of ice drifted out to open sea and Morning and Terra Nova came sailing alongside. It happened very quickly and Discovery was free at last.

  A night of celebration and wild cheering followed. The men on shore ran up a Union Jack and Colbeck observed that there was not a happier man living than Scott that night.

  Final preparations were made for a swift exit, including the removal of the last traces of ice encasing Discovery. An explosion on 16 February did the trick and the ship swung around, ‘with blue water lapping against her sides’, as Scott put it. He added an emotional postscript which probably summed up the feelings of all onboard:

  ‘I wish I could convey some idea of our feelings when the Discovery was once more floating freely on the sea, but I doubt if any written words could express how good it was to walk up and down the familiar bridge, to watch the gentle movement of the ship as she swung to and fro on the tide, to feel the throb of the capstan engine as we weighed one of our anchors, to glance aloft and know that sails and ropes had now some meaning, to see the men bustling about with their old sailor habit, and to know that our vessel was once more able to do things for which a ship is built. It is sufficient to say that it would have been hard to find a prouder or happier ship’s company than we were that day.’14

  The next day the party carried out one final solemn duty when they erected a simple white painted hardwood cross on the summit of Hut Point, 300 ft from the Discovery hut in memory of their fallen comrade, seaman Vince. His colleagues stood bare-headed while Scott read a prayer. Vince was the first person to die at McMurdo Sound and the simple inscription on the cross remains clearly visible to this day.

  The trio of ships finally left Antarctica on 19 February 1904, two years and six weeks after the Discovery first caught sight of the Continent. Scott spoke of his feelings of sadness at leaving familiar sights, but after two years of enforced captivity the men were utterly delighted to be on the high seas and heading back to civilisation.

  Six weeks later, on 1 April 1904 the three ships sailed quietly into Lyttelton. It was Good Friday, the weather was pleasantly warm and the reception given by the generous people of New Zealand was even warmer. Scott said they showered the party with a ‘wealth of hospitality and kindness’. Relieved at touching dry land again, the party settled down for two months of well-deserved rest and recuperation before heading back home to England.

  Discovery reached Spithead in the Solent on 10 September, before finally berthing at East India Docks on the Thames on 15 September 1904. They had been away for three years and one month. In their absence, the Boer War had come to an end, the Wright brothers had made man’s first powered flight and war had broken out between Russia and Japan.

  6

  South again

  Tom Crean arrived back to greenery and civilisation in September 1904 having exceeded even his wildest expectations. He had established himself as a thoroughly dependable and valuable member of the polar team, which was a notable achievement in an age when class distinction and rigid lines of demarcation above and below decks made it difficult for ordinary seamen to gain the attention of the officers.

  For the first time in his life the modest Irishman would be elevated above others. Only a very small exclusive band of men had been to Antarctica by 1904 and the 27-year-old Kerryman was now among the select few. For the first time he had truly achieved something and in naval terms was a ‘cut above the rest’.

  His popularity with the officers and men of the expedition was a tribute to his enthusiasm as was the speedy way in which he had so easily adapted to the hostile environment of the South. His work, especially in the man-hauling harness, had caught the eye of his team leader, Barne. Scott, too, had recognised the worth of the genial Irishman. Notably, he was also a team player, which was an important consideration in the South where men came to rely upon each other for support at critical moments.

  Before his chance meeting with the Discovery expedition three years earlier, Crean had been going nowhere fast, drifting aimlessly through the unappealing and unrewarding life in the British navy towards the end of the Victorian era and with no particular purpose or direction. He was just another sailor, working slowly towards his pension.

  But that had all changed now and Antarctica, the most unforgiving place on earth, had given him that purpose and direction. He had made the transition from boyhood to manhood in the navy and had matured into a responsible and capable polar figure during his spell in the Antarctic. Crean, by chance, had found his true calling.

  It was no surprise that Scott and Shackleton recognised his qualities and that the Irishman was one of the first people they sought when they went South again. Nor that he would go back to Antarctica again without hesitation.

  Crean’s wages for well over two and half years’ hardship and privation in the South was the sum of £55 14s 11d (£55.74 or about £2,850 at today’s equivalent).1 But his contribution to the Discovery expedition was formally recognised and placed on the record by a grateful Scott. He recommended that Crean should be promoted to the rank of Petty Officer 1st Class and that the promotion – and the extra pay – be backdated to the day Discovery arrived home. Scott’s judgement, written in early September 1904, made impressive reading for the Irishman and provided its own testimonial. He said Crean should be:

  ‘Specially recommended for continuous good conduct and meritorious service throughout the period of the Antarctic Expedition 1901–4.’2

  Like all members of the expedition, Crean was also awarded the Antarctic Medal for his services in the South. He was also given the special Royal Geographical Society Medal for his part in the Discovery adventure and Scott’s earlier praise was echoed by Sir Clements Markham, the ‘father’ of the expedition. Writing after Discovery’s return to England and doubtless after consulting Scott, Markham provided his own idiosyncratic and slightly offbeat assessment which surprisingly compared the Kerryman with one of England’s most famous heroes of an earlier age. Crean, he said, was:

  ‘An excellent man, tall with a profile like the Duke of Wellington, universally liked.’3

  However, Crean had arrived back in New Zealand to l
earn that his mother, Catherine, had died while he was out of contact in Antarctica. According to Markham, he was immediately offered a free discharge from the navy. But in the circumstances there was nothing Crean could do about the loss and so he elected to remain in the service. He had, after all, been away from home for more than eleven years and developed a new life entirely apart from the farming community in the Kerry hills.

  However, Markham’s private comments on the death of Crean’s mother lacked understanding and portrayed the insensitive side of the old man’s nature. He wrote:

  ‘He received a free discharge as his mother had died; but he thought better of it and came back to the Navy.’4

  His appointment as Petty Officer 1st Class took effect on 9 September 1904 and he was soon back in the familiar naval ranks, where his exploits would have been a major topic of conversation and the subject of friendly banter among fellow seamen. However, he was a typically loquacious Irish character and would have had no difficulty holding his own against the mess-deck ribaldry.