Shackleton made one final strenuous attempt to free the ship on 14 February when he raised steam and ordered the men out onto the ice with picks and chisels to force their way through the encircling pack. They even employed a makeshift long-bladed saw in an effort to slice through the ice. For two days the ship strained and heaved and the men on the ice battled to carve out a channel which would free Endurance. It was, said Shackleton, ‘terrific labour’ but there were still 400 yards (365 m) of heavy ice blocking the ship’s path.
Every opening won by tremendous physical effort by the men was soon wiped out as the sea immediately froze over in the very low temperatures. It was the moment when Shackleton and experienced hands like Crean realised that the game was up. Endurance was helpless, locked in for the winter. Shackleton wrote:
‘… reluctantly, I was compelled to admit that further effort was useless.’1
Understandably, the men were deeply disappointed and began to come to terms with the unpalatable prospect of a winter drifting ice-bound in the Weddell Sea.
They considered the obvious option of trekking what was now the 60-odd miles (100 km) across the ice to Vahsel Bay and building a hut for the winter. It was, by any standards, a short journey. Indeed, on clear days it was possible to glimpse the area from the crow’s nest.
But travel would be very difficult, if not impossible. The ice was broken and hummocky and it was already late in the season, with temperatures set to plummet. Each return journey of 120 miles (190 km) with supplies and equipment over unknown terrain would take perhaps ten days, possibly more. There was no realistic prospect of carrying the tons of food, oil and equipment – enough to keep 28 men alive for at least one year – across the treacherous ice before winter set in.
In addition, there was no guarantee that the ice was solid all the way to Vahsel and they faced the possibility of meeting impassable channels of open water which might cut them off from the ship.
In short, the trek to Vahsel Bay was a non-starter.
The ship, meantime, continued its slow drift southwards and on 22 February reached 77°, which was to prove the expedition’s ‘furthest south’. But the summer had gone, the sun was dipping lower and the temperatures were sinking. At this point, Endurance began to change direction and change its drift from the south to northwards. The land near Vahsel Bay, which was so tantalisingly close, began to disappear across the horizon.
Two days later, the stranded party ceased to observe ship’s routine and the Endurance officially became a winter station. A thorough review of stores and equipment was ordered and the men began to slaughter seals for winter rations.
Kennels – known as ‘dogloos’ – were built on the ice to house the dogs and on board the ship, living quarters were adapted for the winter routine. McNeish, the carpenter who was widely known as ‘Chips’, built neat little cubicles in the forehold after supplies were transferred to the now-empty coal bunkers. Crean found a home in cubicles in the wardroom alongside the other senior characters, Wild, Worsley and Marston.
He was also preoccupied with a set of four puppies born to one of the dogs. Crean adopted the pups and cheerfully posed for Hurley to take a memorable photograph showing the muscular Irishman, smoking his pipe and gently clutching an armful of furry wriggling animals.
Crean’s dogs became a welcome diversion from the monotony of captivity and worry about their plight. Hurley laconically wrote that Crean had become ‘foster father’ to the pups, while Worsley felt the small animals looked upon the Irishman as their mother. One dog, he reported, raised a ‘dismal howl’ the moment Crean went out and only ‘ceases his lament’ when he returned.
In May, Crean began taking the pups for runs with the sledge and Shackleton observed that they just managed to keep abreast, ‘occasionally cocking an eye with an appealing look in the hope of being taken aboard for a ride [with] their foster father, Crean’.2 By August he was able to put the young dogs into harness for the first time and he was hopeful that they would mature into fully-fledged sledge-dogs. Worsley remembered:
‘Crean has practically completed their education in sledging – but his language – it sounds terrible to my tender young ears.’3
Nevertheless, the ship’s party was agreed that Crean’s dogs were, as Worsley put it, ‘wonderfully trained’. He explained:
‘Crean places his box of hoosh between his double row of kennels and roars out an order – “Kennels”. In a second every dog has retired into his abode and nothing but noses and appealing eyes is to be seen. Although the dogs are ravenous – as dogs always are – and the food within easy reach, not one attempts to help himself, but waits obediently till Crean capsizes a bowl of hoosh on their floor where it disappears with marvellous rapidity.’4
Crean’s fondness of animals also provided him with an unusual moment, capturing the eccentric behaviour which occasionally enlivened the otherwise dullness of daily life on the slowly drifting ice. Worsley, an impulsive character, suddenly jumped up one morning and decided to take a ‘snow bath’, even though temperatures were 29° below freezing. He recorded the moment in his diary, writing:
‘Poor Crean was taking his pups for their morning constitutional and on catching sight of me naked in the snow nearly fainted – thinking I’d “gone wrong in the napper”. Now everyone except myself, is sorry for me and say it is a pity to see one so young go wrong.’5
There were far more serious moments for the Irishman and on one occasion he suffered another very close brush with disaster. Crean had joined two others on an improvised platform trying to break up a large chunk of ice which had forced its way alongside the ship. Suddenly the ice broke, pinning him between an 11-ft (3.3-m) iron ice ‘pricker’ and the platform. Frantic efforts by his colleagues freed the trapped man and Crean escaped with little more than a few bad bruises.
Crean had been in danger of having his legs broken or being pulled under the freezing water. Not for the first time in the South, Crean was very lucky and Worsley remembered:
‘He was soon extricated, fortunately, with no worse damage than some bad bruises inside his legs, but the thick iron pricker had been bent against him to an angle of 45°.’6
On another occasion, he fell through a crack in the ice and was dragged into the freezing waters by his heavy clothing. After being pulled out, Crean stripped out of his soaking clothes and was hurriedly dressed in any spare clothing which could be found. Wild said that Crean was ‘almost paralysed before he was reclothed and was some time before he recovered from the shock’.
Unlike the frigid atmosphere of Scott’s cabins, the Endurance was a more relaxed, informal setting where class distinction and rank were observed more casually. Shackleton, in particular, was more approachable and although discipline was maintained, all the party felt more involved than was apparent on earlier expeditions. There was, like all polar expeditions, tension between individuals living on top of each other in cramped confinement, but on the whole the 28 men co-existed remarkably well, even if the mental strain became increasingly tough on some members. Attempts were made to keep the men as busy as possible and everyone was encouraged to join in regular games of football or hockey on a conveniently flat piece of floe.
An urgent requirement was food for the coming winter. Parties went out onto the slow-moving ice to find and butcher as many seals as possible. By mid-April they had accumulated 5,000 lb (2,265 kg) of meat and blubber, which was likely to last at least three months and avoid dipping into the provisions of tinned food, earmarked for the continental crossing.
Crean was placed in charge of sledges and sledging gear. It would be necessary to get the sledges ready for any emergencies which might arise, such as the crushing of the ship or a dash for land. In addition, the decision underlined Shackleton’s determination to press ahead with the trans-continental expedition, despite the huge setback of seeing Endurance ice-bound and helpless.
Shackleton had not given up hope of completing the mammoth task of crossing Antarctica, regar
dless of their current plight. Indeed, the supreme optimist saw the entrapment as one of delay rather than abandonment. He believed that Endurance would drift north, clear the pack ice and return to South Georgia, where she would be restocked and equipped for a return to Vahsel Bay in the following summer.
Stores and clothing had been set aside for the great journey and six dog handlers were appointed to look after the animals. Significantly, these were the men originally chosen for the trans-continental crossing – Crean, Wild, Hurley, Marston and Macklin. The sixth was McIlroy, the surgeon, who stood in as the driver of Shackleton’s team.
The reality of the situation was somewhat different. Endurance was adrift, like a cork in the ocean, moving slowly northwards at an average of about 1 mile (1.6 km) a day in a clockwise direction. But the ship was totally at the mercy of the ice. Indeed, Endurance was a ship only by name.
The nearest known land was a host of tiny uninhabited islands off the spindly Graham Land peninsula which stretches out like a finger from the Antarctic Continent pointing towards the southern tip of South America. But these islands, such as Joinville, Snow Hill or Paulet, were well over 600 miles (1,000 km) away to the north and there was no guarantee that, even if they reached an island, any rescuers would look there for a stranded party. The territory to the immediate west, Palmer Land, was uncharted and totally unknown. Nor was there even a remote prospect of relief, even if they succeeded in crossing the broken chaotic ice. Their best hope, assuming that they could reach the tip of Graham Land, was the slim chance of meeting a passing whaler. But the old saying of finding a needle in a haystack came to mind.
Apart from optimistically keeping alive his plans for the great journey, Shackleton also worked very hard to maintain morale and discipline as the Endurance party slipped deeper and deeper into the cold blackness of Antarctic winter. The scientists kept busy with their work, and endless tasks were found to keep the men occupied.
Routine was important. The party all rose sharply for breakfast at 9 a.m. and evenings were given over to informal discussions or sing-songs, a stark contrast to the rigidity of Scott’s lectures. At one stage a dog race was run amid a flurry of frantic gambling. It hardly seemed to matter that the spectators, huddled in the inky blackness which prevailed even at midday, could barely see the outcome of the ‘Antarctic Derby’. Wild, though, claimed victory, pushing Crean’s team into third place.
Midwinter’s day, true to custom, was celebrated as a substitute Christmas, with flags and streamers, ludicrous fancy dress and the usual excess of food and drink. True to tradition, the men retired to their bunks warm and satisfied, comforted by the fact that they had now passed the halfway point in their winter sojourn.
Another comfort was that, so far, Endurance had not been troubled by pressure from the ice-pack. But, soon after midwinter, conditions began to deteriorate. Winds screeched to 70 mph and temperatures plunged to –35 °F (–37 °C). Worse still, the winds began to attack the ice and transform the once-solid ice-pack into a twisted, broken jumble of distorted ice hummocks. When caught by the fierce winds, the ice began to move and grind, creating the sort of deadly pressure which can crush a ship like a matchwork model.
Worsley said it was like an ‘enormous train with squeaky axles’ and was mingled with ‘moans and groans of damned souls in torment’.
The men were both impressed and appalled at the awesome power of the pressure and on 1 August they were given a clear sign of just how powerful. There was a rumble and suddenly the ice began to scatter and break up, before forcing Endurance up out of the water. The pressure was cracking the floe, forcing masses of ice underneath the ship, lifting the vessel out of the sea and inflicting severe damage to the rudder. The ship listed about ten degrees and the men began to realise their vulnerability. It was exactly one year to the day that Endurance had sailed away from the London dockside full of hope.
As a precaution, the dogs were brought on board the ship and warm clothing was gathered together. Chips McNeish placed photographs of his loved ones inside his Bible.
By now thoughts were turning towards the very real prospect that Endurance was doomed and that the men would have to abandon ship in the desolate Weddell Sea, at least 1,000 miles (1,600 km) from other humans. The prospect of abandoning Endurance had been in the air for some time and Shackleton himself admitted that the vessel was probably lost during a brief discussion with Wild and Worsley in July.
But Shackleton was determined to remain on the ship for as long as possible, particularly as it provided essential shelter against the howling gales and sub-zero temperatures. No one wanted even to contemplate spending the remaining darkened winter months in a tent on the slowly moving ice, which might crack at any time.
Towards the end of August, Shackleton calculated that after months of drifting, the ship was now 250 miles (400 km) from the nearest known but uninhabited land to the west. It was at least 500 miles (800 km) to the nearest outpost where they might possibly find other humans and relief, but there was no guarantee and they could not afford to risk it. South Georgia, the only certain place of finding relief, was approximately 1,000 miles (1,600 km) away.
However, Endurance was now entering the most dangerous area of the Weddell, the region where thousands of square miles of ice press up against the Antarctic land mass to the west. Endurance was stuck, vice-like, and coming under repeated attack from the grinding pressure. It was as though the ice was slowly closing in on its prey.
In mid-October, Endurance briefly became a ship once again when, after a period of pressure, a narrow lead of open water suddenly emerged. Worsley even raised sail, but the ice closed in again on 17 October. On 24 October shock waves of the relentless pressure caused the first serious leaks and the ship began to list badly at an angle of 30°. Water poured in, McNeish struggled to plug the gaps and the pumps worked frantically. Others began packing Crean’s sledges.
Endurance, languishing at a crazy angle halfway out of the water, was now in her death throes as wave after wave of pressure hit the stricken vessel against a background cacophony of creaking and groaning timbers. Hurley remembered that the ship was the ‘embodiment of helpless futility’ as the men scrambled to shift all the precious gear and food onto the ice.
Shackleton reported that huge blocks of ice weighing many tons were lifted into the air and tossed aside as other masses rose beneath the ship. The men, he recalled, were ‘helpless intruders in a strange world’.
The three small life boats were untied and made ready for lowering. Below decks someone sang a sea shanty as the water continued to pour in and Green, the cook, dutifully made supper as though nothing was wrong.
Endurance finally submitted on 27 October, the ship being mercilessly squeezed on both sides and her beams cracking under the immense strain. The ship, arching like a bow, was letting in torrents of water. Macklin recalled that no one actually ordered the men to stop pumping out water, they just simply gave up. At about 5 p.m., Shackleton gave the order to abandon ship.
It was a sorrowful moment, the official end of the Imperial Trans-Antarctic Expedition. But it was the start of the most remarkable fight for survival in Antarctica’s history.
The 28 men clambered off the ship and huddled together in a collection of tents on a relatively stable chunk of the ice a few hundred yards from the doomed and sinking vessel. Around them was an untidy jumble of hastily-salvaged gear, food, sledges, 60 barking dogs and three small boats.
The men had drifted almost 1,200 miles (1,950 km) in a semi-circular direction over the past ten months and were stranded at 69° 5′ S in temperatures of –5 °F (–20 °C). It was 364 miles (585 km) to the uninhabited Paulet or Snow Hill Island to the northwest where, it was recalled, a small hut had been built and stored with supplies in 1902.
At this stage, the weary, disappointed men had not fully calculated how they would possibly haul supplies and equipment across the disorderly muddle of broken ice. Or whether anyone would bother looking for them when t
hey were supposed to be tucked up 1,000 miles (1,600 km) away at Vahsel Bay.
It was 27 October 1915, and the outside world was not expecting to hear from Endurance until at least the following February or March, perhaps even later.
The reality was that the 28 men were stuck on the ice, they had no means of communicating with the outside world and no one was looking for them.
17
Cast adrift
On the ice the men could hear the dying agonies of Endurance as the ship groaned and creaked under the weight of the immense pressure which slowly strangled the vessel in its vice-like hold. If the ship had been a living thing, someone would have ended her misery.
Few managed a good night’s sleep, partly because the ice floe beneath was constantly cracking and on three occasions they were forced to move the tents to a more secure-looking spot. Alongside the men were the three little boats which were lifted off the dying ship. They alone seemed to offer a tenuous chance of survival – if they could escape the ice and reach the open sea.
An Unsung Hero: Tom Crean - Antarctic Survivor Page 22
