South: The Story of Shackleton's Last Expedition, 1914-1917
was rafted 8 to 10 ft. high in places. This was the first murmur of the
danger that was to reach menacing proportions in later months. The ice
was heard grinding and creaking during the 4th and the ship vibrated
slightly. The movement of the floe was sufficiently pronounced to
interfere with the magnetic work. I gave orders that accumulations of
snow, ice, and rubbish alongside the _Endurance_ should be shovelled
away, so that in case of pressure there would be no weight against the
topsides to check the ship rising above the ice. All hands were busy
with pick and shovel during the day, and moved many tons of material.
Again, on the 9th, there were signs of pressure. Young ice was piled up
to a height of 11 ft. astern of the ship, and the old floe was cracked
in places. The movement was not serious, but I realized that it might
be the beginning of trouble for the Expedition. We brought certain
stores aboard and provided space on deck for the dogs in case they had
to be removed from the floe at short notice. We had run a 500-fathom
steel wire round the ship, snow-huts, and kennels, with a loop out to
the lead ahead, where the dredge was used. This wire was supported on
ice-pillars, and it served as a guide in bad weather when the view was
obscured by driving snow and a man might have lost himself altogether.
I had this wire cut in five places, since otherwise it might have been
dragged across our section of the floe with damaging effect in the
event of the ice splitting suddenly.
The dogs had been divided into six teams of nine dogs each. Wild,
Crean, Macklin, McIlroy, Marston, and Hurley each had charge of a team,
and were fully responsible for the exercising, training, and feeding of
their own dogs. They called in one of the surgeons when an animal was
sick. We were still losing some dogs through worms, and it was
unfortunate that the doctors had not the proper remedies. Worm-powders
were to have been provided by the expert Canadian dog-driver I had
engaged before sailing for the south, and when this man did not join
the Expedition the matter was overlooked. We had fifty-four dogs and
eight pups early in April, but several were ailing, and the number of
mature dogs was reduced to fifty by the end of the month. Our store of
seal meat amounted now to about 5000 lbs., and I calculated that we had
enough meat and blubber to feed the dogs for ninety days without
trenching upon the sledging rations. The teams were working well, often
with heavy loads. The biggest dog was Hercules, who tipped the beam at
86 lbs. Samson was 11 lbs. lighter, but he justified his name one day
by starting off at a smart pace with a sledge carrying 200 lbs. of
blubber and a driver.
A new berg that was going to give us some cause for anxiety made its
appearance on the 14th. It was a big berg, and we noticed as it lay on
the north-west horizon that it had a hummocky, crevassed appearance at
the east end. During the day this berg increased its apparent altitude
and changed its bearing slightly. Evidently it was aground and was
holding its position against the drifting pack. A sounding at 11 a.m.
gave 197 fathoms, with a hard stony or rocky bottom. During the next
twenty-four hours the _Endurance_ moved steadily towards the crevassed
berg, which doubled its altitude in that time. We could see from the
mast-head that the pack was piling and rafting against the mass of ice,
and it was easy to imagine what would be the fate of the ship if she
entered the area of disturbance. She would be crushed like an egg-shell
amid the shattering masses.
Worsley was in the crow’s-nest on the evening of the 15th, watching for
signs of land to the westward, and he reported an interesting
phenomenon. The sun set amid a glow of prismatic colours on a line of
clouds just above the horizon. A minute later Worsley saw a golden
glow, which expanded as he watched it, and presently the sun appeared
again and rose a semi-diameter clear above the western horizon. He
hailed Crean, who from a position on the floe 90 ft. below the
crow’s-nest also saw the re-born sun. A quarter of an hour later from
the deck Worsley saw the sun set a second time. This strange phenomenon
was due to mirage or refraction. We attributed it to an ice-crack to
the westward, where the band of open water had heated a stratum of air.
The drift of the pack was not constant, and during the succeeding days
the crevassed berg alternately advanced and receded as the _Endurance_
moved with the floe. On Sunday, April 18, it was only seven miles
distant from the ship.
“It is a large berg, about three-quarters of a mile long on the side
presented to us and probably well over 200 ft. high. It is heavily
crevassed, as though it once formed the serac portion of a glacier. Two
specially wide and deep chasms across it from south-east to north-west
give it the appearance of having broken its back on the shoal-ground.
Huge masses of pressure-ice are piled against its cliffs to a height of
about 60 ft., showing the stupendous force that is being brought to
bear upon it by the drifting pack. The berg must be very firmly
aground. We swing the arrow on the current-meter frequently and watch
with keen attention to see where it will come to rest. Will it point
straight for the berg, showing that our drift is in that direction? It
swings slowly round. It points to the north-east end of the berg, then
shifts slowly to the centre and seems to stop; but it moves again and
swings 20 degrees clear of our enemy to the south-west.... We notice
that two familiar bergs, the Rampart Berg and the Peak Berg, have moved
away from the ship. Probably they also have grounded or dragged on the
shoal.”
A strong drift to the westward during the night of the 18th relieved
our anxiety by carrying the _Endurance_ to the lee of the crevassed
berg, which passed out of our range of vision before the end of the
month.
We said good-bye to the sun on May 1 and entered the period of twilight
that would be followed by the darkness of midwinter. The sun by the aid
of refraction just cleared the horizon at noon and set shortly before 2
p.m. A fine aurora in the evening was dimmed by the full moon, which
had risen on April 27 and would not set again until May 6. The
disappearance of the sun is apt to be a depressing event in the polar
regions, where the long months of darkness involve mental as well as
physical strain. But the _Endurance’s_ company refused to abandon their
customary cheerfulness, and a concert in the evening made the Ritz a
scene of noisy merriment, in strange contrast with the cold, silent
world that lay outside. “One feels our helplessness as the long winter
night closes upon us. By this time, if fortune had smiled upon the
Expedition, we would have been comfortably and securely established in
a shore base, with depots laid to the south and plans made for the long
march in the spring and summer. Where will we make a landing now? It is
not easy to forecast the future. The ice may open in the spring, but by
that time we will be far to the north-west. I do not think we shall be
able to work back to Vahsel Bay. There are possible landing-places on
the western coast of the Weddell Sea, but can we reach any suitable
spot early enough to attempt the overland journey next year? Time alone
will tell. I do not think any member of the Expedition is disheartened
by our disappointment. All hands are cheery and busy, and will do their
best when the time for action comes. In the meantime we must wait.”
The ship’s position on Sunday, May 2, was lat. 75° 23´ S., long. 42°
14´ W. The temperature at noon was 5° below zero Fahr., and the sky was
overcast. A seal was sighted from the mast-head at lunch-time, and five
men, with two dog teams, set off after the prize. They had an
uncomfortable journey outward in the dim, diffused light, which cast no
shadows and so gave no warning of irregularities in the white surface.
It is a strange sensation to be running along on apparently smooth snow
and to fall suddenly into an unseen hollow, or bump against a ridge.
“After going out three miles to the eastward,” wrote Worsley in
describing this seal-hunt, “we range up and down but find nothing,
until from a hummock I fancy I see something apparently a mile away,
but probably little more than half that distance. I ran for it, found
the seal, and with a shout brought up the others at the double. The
seal was a big Weddell, over 10 ft. long and weighing more than 800
lbs. But Soldier, one of the team leaders, went for its throat without
a moment’s hesitation, and we had to beat off the dogs before we could
shoot the seal. We caught five or six gallons of blood in a tin for the
dogs, and let the teams have a drink of fresh blood from the seal. The
light was worse than ever on our return, and we arrived back in the
dark. Sir Ernest met us with a lantern and guided us into the lead
astern and thence to the ship.”
This was the first seal we had secured since March 19, and the meat and
blubber made a welcome addition to the stores.
Three emperor penguins made their appearance in a lead west of the ship
on May 3. They pushed their heads through the young ice while two of
the men were standing by the lead. The men imitated the emperor’s call
and walked slowly, penguin fashion, away from the lead. The birds in
succession made a magnificent leap 3 ft. clear from the water on to the
young ice. Thence they tobogganed to the bank and followed the men away
from the lead. Their retreat was soon cut off by a line of men.
“We walk up to them, talking loudly and assuming a threatening aspect.
Notwithstanding our bad manners, the three birds turn towards us,
bowing ceremoniously. Then, after a closer inspection, they conclude
that we are undesirable acquaintances and make off across the floe. We
head them off and finally shepherd them close to the ship, where the
frenzied barking of the dogs so frightens them that they make a
determined effort to break through the line. We seize them. One bird of
philosophic mien goes quietly, led by one flipper. The others show
fight, but all are imprisoned in an igloo for the night.... In the
afternoon we see five emperors in the western lead and capture one.
Kerr and Cheetham fight a valiant action with two large birds. Kerr
rushes at one, seizes it, and is promptly knocked down by the angered
penguin, which jumps on his chest before retiring. Cheetham comes to
Kerr’s assistance; and between them they seize another penguin, bind
his bill and lead him, muttering muffled protests, to the ship like an
inebriated old man between two policemen. He weighs 85 lbs., or 5 lbs.
less than the heaviest emperor captured previously. Kerr and Cheetham
insist that he is nothing to the big fellow who escaped them.”
This penguin’s stomach proved to be filled with freshly caught fish up
to 10 in. long. Some of the fish were of a coastal or littoral variety.
Two more emperors were captured on the following day, and, while Wordie
was leading one of them towards the ship, Wild came along with his
team. The dogs, uncontrollable in a moment, made a frantic rush for the
bird, and were almost upon him when their harness caught upon an
ice-pylon, which they had tried to pass on both sides at once. The
result was a seething tangle of dogs, traces, and men, and an
overturned sled, while the penguin, three yards away, nonchalantly and
indifferently surveyed the disturbance. He had never seen anything of
the kind before and had no idea at all that the strange disorder might
concern him. Several cracks had opened in the neighbourhood of the
ship, and the emperor penguins, fat and glossy of plumage, were