South: The Story of Shackleton's Last Expedition, 1914-1917
could make out what appeared to be land to the north.
Although the general drift of our ice-floe had indicated to us that we
must eventually drift north, our progress in that direction was not by
any means uninterrupted. We were at the mercy of the wind, and could no
more control our drift than we could control the weather.
A long spell of calm, still weather at the beginning of January caused
us some anxiety by keeping us at about the latitude that we were in at
the beginning of December. Towards the end of January, however, a long
drift of eighty-four miles in a blizzard cheered us all up. This soon
stopped and we began a slight drift to the east. Our general drift now
slowed up considerably, and by February 22 we were still eighty miles
from Paulet Island, which now was our objective. There was a hut there
and some stores which had been taken down by the ship which went to the
rescue of Nordenskjold’s Expedition in 1904, and whose fitting out and
equipment I had charge of. We remarked amongst ourselves what a strange
turn of fate it would be if the very cases of provisions which I had
ordered and sent out so many years before were now to support us during
the coming winter. But this was not to be. March 5 found us about forty
miles south of the longitude of Paulet Island, but well to the east of
it; and as the ice was still too much broken up to sledge over, it
appeared as if we should be carried past it. By March 17 we were
exactly on a level with Paulet Island but sixty miles to the east. It
might have been six hundred for all the chance that we had of reaching
it by sledging across the broken sea-ice in its present condition.
Our thoughts now turned to the Danger Islands, thirty-five miles away.
“It seems that we are likely to drift up and down this coast from
south-west to north-east and back again for some time yet before we
finally clear the point of Joinville Island; until we do we cannot hope
for much opening up, as the ice must be very congested against the
south-east coast of the island, otherwise our failure to respond to the
recent south-easterly gale cannot be well accounted for. In support of
this there has been some very heavy pressure on the north-east side, of
our floe, one immense block being up-ended to a height of 25 ft. We saw
a Dominican gull fly over to-day, the first we have seen since leaving
South Georgia; it is another sign of our proximity to land. We cut
steps in this 25-ft. slab, and it makes a fine look-out. When the
weather clears we confidently expect to see land.”
A heavy blizzard obscured our view till March 23. “‘Land in sight’ was
reported this morning. We were sceptical, but this afternoon it showed
up unmistakably to the west, and there can be no further doubt about
it. It is Joinville Island, and its serrated mountain ranges, all
snow-clad, are just visible on the horizon. This barren,
inhospitable-looking land would be a haven of refuge to us if we could
but reach it. It would be ridiculous to make the attempt though, with
the ice all broken up as it is. It is too loose and broken to march
over, yet not open enough to be able to launch the boats.” For the next
two or three days we saw ourselves slowly drifting past the land,
longing to reach it yet prevented from doing so by the ice between, and
towards the end of March we saw Mount Haddington fade away into the
distance.
Our hopes were now centred on Elephant Island or Clarence Island, which
lay 100 miles almost due north of us.
If we failed to reach either of them we might try for South Georgia,
but our chances of reaching it would be very small.
CHAPTER VIII
ESCAPE FROM THE ICE
On April 7 at daylight the long-desired peak of Clarence Island came
into view, bearing nearly north from our camp. At first it had the
appearance of a huge berg, but with the growing light we could see
plainly the black lines of scree and the high, precipitous cliffs of
the island, which were miraged up to some extent. The dark rocks in the
white snow were a pleasant sight. So long had our eyes looked on
icebergs that apparently grew or dwindled according to the angles at
which the shadows were cast by the sun; so often had we discovered
rocky islands and brought in sight the peaks of Joinville Land, only to
find them, after some change of wind or temperature, floating away as
nebulous cloud or ordinary berg; that not until Worsley, Wild, and
Hurley had unanimously confirmed my observation was I satisfied that I
was really looking at Clarence Island. The land was still more than
sixty miles away, but it had to our eyes something of the appearance of
home, since we expected to find there our first solid footing after all
the long months of drifting on the unstable ice. We had adjusted
ourselves to the life on the floe, but our hopes had been fixed all the
time on some possible landing-place. As one hope failed to materialize,
our anticipations fed themselves on another. Our drifting home had no
rudder to guide it, no sail to give it speed. We were dependent upon
the caprice of wind and current; we went whither those irresponsible
forces listed. The longing to feel solid earth under our feet filled
our hearts.
In the full daylight Clarence Island ceased to look like land and had
the appearance of a berg of more than eight or ten miles away, so
deceptive are distances in the clear air of the Antarctic. The sharp
white peaks of Elephant Island showed to the west of north a little
later in the day.
“I have stopped issuing sugar now, and our meals consist of seal meat
and blubber only, with 7 ozs. of dried milk per day for the party,” I
wrote. “Each man receives a pinch of salt, and the milk is boiled up to
make hot drinks for all hands. The diet suits us, since we cannot get
much exercise on the floe and the blubber supplies heat. Fried slices
of blubber seem to our taste to resemble crisp bacon. It certainly is
no hardship to eat it, though persons living under civilized conditions
probably would shudder at it. The hardship would come if we were unable
to get it.”
I think that the palate of the human animal can adjust itself to
anything. Some creatures will die before accepting a strange diet if
deprived of their natural food. The Yaks of the Himalayan uplands must
feed from the growing grass, scanty and dry though it may be, and would
starve even if allowed the best oats and corn.
“We still have the dark water-sky of the last week with us to the
south-west and west, round to the north-east. We are leaving all the
bergs to the west and there are few within our range of vision now. The
swell is more marked to-day, and I feel sure we are at the verge of the
floe-ice. One strong gale, followed by a calm would scatter the pack, I
think, and then we could push through. I have been thinking much of our
prospects. The appearance of Clarence Island after our long drift
seems, somehow, to convey an ultimatum. The island is the last outpost
of the south and our final chance of a landing-place. Beyond it lies
the broad Atlantic. Our little boats may be compelled any day now to
sail unsheltered over the open sea with a thousand leagues of ocean
separating them from the land to the north and east. It seems vital
that we shall land on Clarence Island or its neighbour, Elephant
Island. The latter island has attraction for us, although as far as I
know nobody has ever landed there. Its name suggests the presence of
the plump and succulent sea-elephant. We have an increasing desire in
any case to get firm ground under our feet. The floe has been a good
friend to us, but it is reaching the end of its journey, and it is
liable at any time now to break up and fling us into the unplumbed
sea.”
A little later, after reviewing the whole situation in the light of our
circumstances, I made up my mind that we should try to reach Deception
Island. The relative positions of Clarence, Elephant, and Deception
Islands can be seen on the chart. The two islands first named lay
comparatively near to us and were separated by some eighty miles of
water from Prince George Island, which was about 150 miles away from
our camp on the berg. From this island a chain of similar islands
extends westward, terminating in Deception Island. The channels
separating these desolate patches of rock and ice are from ten to
fifteen miles wide. But we knew from the Admiralty sailing directions
that there were stores for the use of shipwrecked mariners on Deception
Island, and it was possible that the summer whalers had not yet
deserted its harbour. Also we had learned from our scanty records that
a small church had been erected there for the benefit of the transient
whalers. The existence of this building would mean to us a supply of
timber, from which, if dire necessity urged us, we could construct a
reasonably seaworthy boat. We had discussed this point during our drift
on the floe. Two of our boats were fairly strong, but the third, the
_James Caird_, was light, although a little longer than the others. All
of them were small for the navigation of these notoriously stormy seas,
and they would be heavily loaded, so a voyage in open water would be a
serious undertaking. I fear that the carpenter’s fingers were already
itching to convert pews into topsides and decks. In any case, the worst
that could befall us when we had reached Deception Island would be a
wait until the whalers returned about the middle of November.
Another bit of information gathered from the records of the west side
of the Weddell Sea related to Prince George Island. The Admiralty
“Sailing Directions,” referring to the South Shetlands, mentioned a
cave on this island. None of us had seen that cave or could say if it
was large or small, wet or dry; but as we drifted on our floe and
later, when navigating the treacherous leads and making our uneasy
night camps, that cave seemed to my fancy to be a palace which in
contrast would dim the splendours of Versailles.
The swell increased that night and the movement of the ice became more
pronounced. Occasionally a neighbouring floe would hammer against the
ice on which we were camped, and the lesson of these blows was plain to
read. We must get solid ground under our feet quickly. When the
vibration ceased after a heavy surge, my thoughts flew round to the
problem ahead. If the party had not numbered more than six men a
solution would not have been so hard to find; but obviously the
transportation of the whole party to a place of safety, with the
limited means at our disposal, was going to be a matter of extreme
difficulty. There were twenty-eight men on our floating cake of ice,
which was steadily dwindling under the influence of wind, weather,
charging floes, and heavy swell. I confess that I felt the burden of
responsibility sit heavily on my shoulders; but, on the other hand, I
was stimulated and cheered by the attitude of the men. Loneliness is
the penalty of leadership, but the man who has to make the decisions is
assisted greatly if he feels that there is no uncertainty in the minds
of those who follow him, and that his orders will be carried out
confidently and in expectation of success.
The sun was shining in the blue sky on the following morning (April 8).
Clarence Island showed clearly on the horizon, and Elephant Island
could also be distinguished. The single snow-clad peak of Clarence
Island stood up as a beacon of safety, though the most optimistic
imagination could not make an easy path of the ice and ocean that
separated us from that giant, white and austere.
“The pack was much looser this morning, and the long rolling swell from
the north-east is more pronounced than it was yesterday. The floes rise
and fall with the surge of the sea. We evidently are drifting with the