An Unsung Hero: Tom Crean - Antarctic Survivor

by Michael Smith

  ‘Wilson is so thin it’s almost frightening to see; the sight of him brought to mind a starving, dying wretch during a famine. He was all skin and bone.’2

  However, the men had only been out for 36 days, a quarter of the time the polar party faced and their poor condition aroused concern among the men at Cape Evans who were shortly to embark on their own hazardous trek. The fond hope was that the weather, at least, would not be as bad.

  While they had been away, Crean’s experience of the Antarctic had been summoned once again to help surgeon Atkinson, who had gone out with Gran to read the thermometer in temperatures that had sunk to –28 °F (–33 °C) and with the wind howling at up to 45 mph. Gran returned unscathed but to illustrate the severity of the conditions, reported that it had taken an hour to travel no more than 200 or 300 yards (274 m). But Atkinson was still missing.

  Crean, Taff Evans and Keohane were sent out with lanterns but returned empty-handed. By now concern for Atkinson had grown and Scott ordered a major search. Crean, Evans, Keohane and Dimitri took a light sledge, a sleeping bag and a flask of brandy out into the freezing, dark Antarctic night.

  Atkinson was eventually found with a badly frostbitten hand, having been wandering around aimlessly for five hours. It was another grim warning of the ever-present dangers and Scott said ‘we must have no more of these very unnecessary escapades’. He had overlooked the Cape Crozier trip.

  Scott was equally busy putting together his plans for the march to the Pole and he had been much impressed with the contribution so far from his three stalwarts in the ranks, Crean, Evans and Lashly. He wrote:

  ‘Crean is perfectly happy, ready to do anything and go anywhere, the harder the work, the better. Evans and Crean are great friends. Lashly is his old self in every respect, hard-working to the limit, quiet, abstemious and determined. You see altogether I have a good set of people with me, and it will go hard if we don’t achieve something.’3

  The sun returned on 26 August after four months and preparations for the spring season and the march to the Pole began to accelerate as the gloom slowly lifted. But, as before, there were more mishaps which, although not fundamental to the success or failure of the expedition, merely reinforced the belief that it was an unlucky venture. The superstitious among the men would have been worried.

  First Teddy Evans took Gran and Forde on a short spring trip to dig out Corner Camp, less than 50 miles from Cape Evans, where the polar party would turn due south and head for the Pole. The trio, pulling over 600 lb (270 kg) ran into severe weather, with temperatures dropping sharply to –73.3 °F (–58.5 °C) or 105° of frost. Only weeks after the Cape Crozier ordeal, the spring temperatures had caught them out and Forde was badly frostbitten on the hands. Forde, who came from Cork, never fully recovered and was invalided home on Terra Nova in 1912 while the others headed towards the Pole. A little later the Australian geologist, Debenham, suffered a bad knee injury whilst playing in a football match on the ice outside the hut at Cape Evans. Ponting had wanted to record an ice-match on film and Debenham’s injury caused an irritating three-week delay in taking a geological party to the western mountains. In another film-related escapade, the cook, Clissold, had fallen heavily and was concussed while posing on the ice for Ponting.

  Along the Barrier at the Bay of Whales, Amundsen, too, was getting impatient. Despite outward signs of confidence, he was worried about losing the race to the British party. On 8 September, while Evans was struggling against the elements on the Corner Camp journey, Amundsen’s eight-man party and teams of dogs had set out for the Pole. But it was far too early in the season, with temperatures on the Barrier sinking to close to –70 °F (–56 °C) and even the hardy dogs suffered badly. It was a rare mistake by Amundsen and after only a few days he bowed to the inevitable and returned to his base camp, Framheim, a chastened man.

  Scott, meantime, was putting the finishing touches to his preparations. The years of meticulous planning, tedious fund-raising and idly sitting out the bleak Antarctic winters were finally over. The last great overland journey on earth was about to begin.

  9

  The last great land journey

  Tom Crean had an unusual role to play in the days before the historic polar journey began. Ponting was anxious to capture at first hand the experience of polar travelling on moving film and the ever-willing Crean was recruited for a starring role. He joined Scott, Wilson and Taff Evans in a man-hauling harness to demonstrate the method of travelling to be used for the next five months in the assault on the Pole.

  Despite his long legs, Crean had a short, stabbing stride and the characteristic gait was clearly evident on Ponting’s cine film as he pulled the lightly-laden sledge alongside his friend Evans and behind Scott and Wilson in the mock exercise.

  However, Ponting’s film is a marvellous record of the Heroic Age of polar exploration, which has never been surpassed. Although it could never catch the true horror of the fateful journey, the little film has left an indelible memory. He spent several hours photographing the four men, shooting a total of 700 ft (213 m) of film. He recorded the men pulling a sledge, erecting a tent and cooking in what was a faithful reconstruction of the daily routine on the ice. Wilson wrote about the filming in his diary:

  ‘… there is no humbug about them at all; they are all straightforward photos of what we do every day on trek, only they can’t possibly be taken under those conditions.’1

  In another filming session shortly afterwards, Ponting poignantly captured revealing close-ups of four men inside a tiny cramped tent, cheerfully removing their foot-gear and joking and smiling as they prepared a hot meal. The four men in this footage were Scott, Wilson, Bowers and Taff Evans – all destined to die a few months later.

  Soon after, the real thing was under way. In spite of Scott’s meticulous planning and attention to detail, the enterprise was unnecessarily complicated and occasionally muddled. Transport, the key to the enterprise, was typically convoluted and did not make the difficult task of covering the near 1,800 miles to the Pole and back any easier.

  Scott used sixteen men with four entirely different methods of travel – motor tractors, dog teams, ponies and man-hauling – which added to the complexity of preparations and coordination of the parties. But they were all travelling at different speeds, which contrasted starkly with the simple form of travel – a small experienced party all using ski and dog teams – adopted by Amundsen.

  The first steps on the British trek to the Pole were taken at 10.30 a.m. on 24 October 1911, when the two remaining motor tractors spluttered into life. Lashly drove one and Day, the mechanic, the other, while the steward Hooper lent a hand. In charge was Teddy Evans, ostensibly the expedition’s Number Two but in reality now replaced by Wilson as Scott’s deputy and confidante. Scott had turned against Evans during the winter, labelling him ‘a duffer’ who was not fit to be second-in-command. Given that he had also lost faith in the motor tractors, there was a certain symbolism in the decision to pair the two together.

  Lashly recalled that two tractors pulled 6,290 lb (2,850 kg) – almost 3 tons – of stores, pony food and petrol in six sledges which, it was hoped, would save the struggling ponies for the longer march to the foot of the Beardmore. The aim was to depot the supplies about 200 miles (320 km) to the south at 80½°, or about 60 miles (96 km) further on from One Ton Depot.

  However the tractors, like the ponies on the depot-laying trip, were a grave disappointment and fell far short of expectations. They spluttered and crawled along, covering only 3 miles in the first three hours and providing a clear indication that they would not be as valuable as hoped. After numerous irritating breakdowns, they finally came to a standstill a week later on 1 November. They had covered a paltry 51 miles (82 km) in seven days and the large amount of equipment on board was taken off and depoted in the snow.

  Evans packed 740 lb (335 kg) of supplies and equipment onto a sledge and the four men climbed into the man-hauling harness. It was a highly significant mo
ment for the expedition as it made the unhappy transition from machinery to men and Lashly recorded:

  ‘Now comes the man-hauling part of the show.’2

  On the same day, 1 November 1911, the main twelve-man party paraded out of Cape Evans to an enthusiastic send-off from the remaining men who waved flags and cheered. Ponting ensured that he captured the moment as the polar party trudged off into the distance, turning occasionally to wave a last farewell.

  The party was Scott, Wilson, Bowers, Oates, Atkinson, Cherry-Garrard, Wright, Taff Evans, Keohane and Tom Crean. Each man led one of the ten surviving ponies, while Meares and Dimitri followed with 23 dogs. Crean was blessed with one of the relatively stronger ponies and Scott was able to report:

  ‘Bones ambled off gently with Crean and I led Snippets in his wake.’3

  The start of the great venture was marked by a strange event which, at the time, seemed innocuous. Scott was preoccupied with his complex plans and completely forgot to bring the Union Jack which Queen Alexandra, the Queen Mother, had given to him to plant at the Pole. The irony was that he sent Gran to fetch it and thus history records that a Norwegian carried the British flag on its first steps towards the Pole. On the eve of departure, Scott had written:

  ‘The future is in the lap of the gods; I can think of nothing left undone to deserve success.’4

  Elsewhere on the Barrier, Amundsen was already almost 200 miles (320 km) further south, travelling at up to 25 miles a day. The hand-picked five-man Norwegian party – Amundsen, Olav Bjaaland, Helmer Hanssen, Sverre Hassel and Oscar Wisting – had set out almost two weeks earlier on 19 October with 52 dogs and the race was as good as over.

  For Scott’s party, the weather was not good and the travelling surface poor because light snowfalls made the going soft and sticky. It was particularly tough going for the ponies who were each hauling almost 700 lb (320 kg) of supplies on sledges. Both men and ponies frequently sank deep into the snow as they marched off and it was clear from the start that a mighty struggle lay ahead.

  However, in those early hopeful days, with the party at its strongest, the men somehow found time for the odd slice of light-hearted mischief to offset the heavy work and occasional setback. Teddy Evans, who had an energetic sense of humour, poked gentle fun at the animal-loving Crean, who was still mourning the loss of one of the dead ponies. Evans’ diary for 4 November recorded the occasion:

  ‘Marched up to Blossom cairn where we tied a piece of black bunting to pull Crean’s leg – mourning for his pony.’5

  But there was little scope for developing the humour as the travelling conditions worsened and the language of Scott’s diary provides ample evidence of the difficult conditions. On 10 November Scott recorded a ‘horrid march’ and two days later he said the marches were ‘uniformly horrid’ with concern growing about the fitness of the ponies. On 13 November he reported ‘another horrid march’ and said the ponies were being ‘tried hard by the surface’.

  In contrast, the dog teams of Meares and Dimitri were covering the same distances in a third of the time and were not reporting the same hunger and tiredness. The dogs, if anything, were greatly under-worked while the ponies found it very difficult to cope.

  On 21 November the main party caught up with Evans and the former motor tractor team, which had man-hauled their supplies to a large new depot almost 60 miles (96 km) south of One Ton, called Mount Hooper after the young steward. For the first time the entire polar party was brought together on the Barrier. But, ominously, some early signs of weakness among the men were appearing and Scott reported that Evans’ team – who had already dragged their heavy sledge for almost three weeks – were ‘very hungry’.

  With the motor tractors left forlornly behind in the snow, the party was now drawing on only three forms of transport – dog teams, ponies and man-hauling. However, they were still all moving at different speeds, which meant that they began and ended each day at different times and added another task to Scott’s daily organisation. Scott himself admitted it represented a ‘somewhat disorganised fleet’. By 21 November, the polar party had travelled only 192 miles (309 km) in the 21 days since they left Cape Evans – an average of a little over 9 miles a day – and was still close to 700 miles (1,126 km) from the Pole.

  On the same day Amundsen had already climbed the unexplored Axel Heiberg Glacier and reached the Polar Plateau. On that day alone his party had travelled 17 miles (27 km) and climbed 5,000 ft (1,520 m), pulling almost one ton of supplies up the hazardous glacier. Amundsen was only about 300 miles (480 km) from the Pole. However, the reward for many of the dogs was a bullet in the brain. On 21 November Amundsen ruthlessly culled the pack, reducing it from 42 to eighteen and depoting their carcasses to feed the survivors on the way home.

  Three days later the first of Scott’s ponies was shot and the travelling parties were rearranged. Hooper and the mechanic Day were sent back to Cape Evans and for the first time the party split into three groups of four, plus Meares and Dimitri with the dogs. Crean was by now comfortable sharing a tent with his friend Taff Evans, plus Bowers and Oates.

  The weather deteriorated badly, a blizzard confining the frustrated party to their tents for four days within sight of Beardmore Glacier and close to the towering mountains which point up the Polar Plateau. These were precious days lost, days which at the end of the journey would prove costly. Four days in a period of five months may not seem very much, but on polar journeys it might be the difference between life and death. Each day lost meant that the men would be tramping back to Cape Evans later and later in the season, when the vicious autumn weather would be closing in. Each day meant a further erosion of the safety margin.

  As the party approached the end of the 400-mile (640-km) Barrier stage and the bottom of the Beardmore, they began to kill off the weakening ponies. Crean’s animal, ‘Bones’, was among the final five to be despatched on 9 December at what became known as Shambles Camp.

  The entire party, except Meares and Dimitri with the dogs, was now man-hauling and there remained nearly 450 miles (720 km) to go. Because of the time lost by the blizzard, the expedition was already behind schedule and eating into the rations which were meant to be consumed a little later on the Beardmore and the Plateau.

  The heavy work meant the men were often hungry because they were not getting enough food to compensate for their arduous and continuous labours. The mainstay of the diet was pemmican, a not-very-palatable concentrated dried meat paste, which was mixed with melted snow and broken biscuits to make a thick porridge-like dish the men called ‘hoosh’. There were also biscuits and butter to nibble and the men drank tea and cocoa, laced with sugar. All water for tea or cocoa had to be generated by melting snow in the primus stove so it is likely that the men were also very thirsty from their heavy labour.

  The late start to the journey and the hold-ups caused by the bad weather posed considerable difficulties for the men even before they embarked on the toughest part of the trip, the 120-mile (190-km) climb up the treacherous Beardmore Glacier. At least one writer – David Thomson in his 1977 work, Scott’s Men – said it would have been no disgrace if Scott had turned back at the foot of the Beardmore.

  Many of the party were quietly relieved that they were no longer leading the ponies and positively warmed to the idea of man-hauling. Wilson, though admitting to feeling very tired due to the marching, wrote:

  ‘Thank God the horses are now all done with and we begin the heavier work ourselves.’6

  The work became even harder as the party approached the Beardmore because the immense pressure of the floating Ice Barrier thrusts against the mountainous land and causes massive disturbances on the surface. Shackleton, who had been there three years earlier, called it the ‘Gateway’.

  Even in the cold, windy conditions, sweat poured off their bodies as each group jerked and pulled 600 lb (270 kg) sledges. Cherry-Garrard recorded that on one day it required six hours of draining exertion to cover one painful hard-won mile. Evans’ tea
m hauled and strained for an exhausting fifteen hours on 9 December and he arrived at Shambles Camp ‘dead cooked’. Scott said the work was ‘extraordinarily fatiguing’.

  It was ten years to the day that Crean had signed up for the Discovery expedition and became a polar explorer.

  But doubts were emerging about the fitness of the men as the heavy work of man-hauling in terrible conditions began to take its daily toll. Wilson reported that Wright was ‘getting played out’ and that Lashly, who had already man-hauled almost 400 miles (640 km) was ‘not so fit’. It was, Scott wrote, a ‘very serious business if the men are going to crock up’.

  It was doubly worrying because they were only now beginning the most arduous part of their journey, the 120-mile (190-km) climb up the daunting Beardmore which rises over 10,000 ft between two mountain ranges and up to the Polar Plateau. The uphill pulling, with each man now hauling at least 170 lb (77 kg), would be the most exacting they had so far experienced. On the Beardmore, there was also the ever-present fear of plunging through any number of life-threatening crevasses which are scattered across the broken, tortured terrain.